Through a Mentor's Eyes
by huckin-cupcakes
Summary: "Honestly, unless someone's maimed, dead, or dying, I'm going back to sleep." The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins written from Haymitch Abernathy's point of view. Because I've always wanted to know what Haymitch was thinking/doing.
1. Chapter 1

**I DO NOT own the characters, plot, setting, etc. As much as I wish I did. It's all Suzanne Collins.**

When I wake up, my head pounds incessantly and I groan involuntarily as I try to determine where I am. As I open a bleary eye I'm able to establish that I'm still in my house in Victor's Village at the kitchen table with my knife securely in one hand and a bottle of spirits in the other. I also conclude that the pounding isn't inside my head. It's coming from the front door, and that can only mean one thing.

"Hurry up Haymitch. You're late and it'd be a shame for me to have to knock down the door and drag you out by your feet," one of the Peacekeepers calls at the top of his lungs. I stand up, take a swig of liquid courage to help straighten me out, and work my way towards the door on unsteady feet.

"Yes?" I ask as I open the door to see two annoyed-looking Peacekeepers staring me down.

"We've come to escort you to the Reaping," Cray says as formally as he can, but I can see he's cracking a smile in spite of himself. Those words are the Capitol speaking, and Cray just doesn't seem to be up to the formal delivery. He's never taken his job as seriously as he should.

"Oh, it's that time of year is it?" I say with a sniff, as though I've completely forgotten the date. I might be drunk as a skunk but I've discovered that no amount of booze is going to erase the day of the Reaping from my brain. As nice as that would be. "Right, well, escort away," I reply sardonically, taking another swig from my bottle as I stagger out the door.

They wrap their arms around mine, more for support than restraint. It's a good thing, too, since I don't think I'd make it to the square without them. There's no conversation as we work our way through the streets. My head is so fuzzy I don't think I'm up to it anyway, and I end up staring at the dirt and trying to block out the unpleasant thoughts about what today will bring.

Next thing I know Cray is pushing me toward the stage, but not before taking away my bottle. I want to turn around and wrestle it back from him. My body, on the other hand, seems to have already decided it is going forward and doesn't seem capable of going back the way it came. I settle for hollering at Cray as loudly as possible to give me my damn bottle back, the bastard, but the words come out slurred and I can tell I don't make much sense. By the look on his face he knows perfectly well what I'm on about, but he doesn't look like he's about to give it back.

I collapse on the first chair I come to on the stage, not really able to muster up the coordination to do much else. A haze sets around my mind as the crowd applauds and I spot Effie beside me. I make an impulsive move towards her to hug her. I'm not sure if I'm doing it because I haven't seen her for awhile or doing it because I think it'll stop her from drawing names out of the big glass bowls if I'm restraining her, but she fends it off as she moves toward the microphone.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!" My head throbs painfully at the cheer in her tone. I cross my arms and stare at my knees, teetering dangerously on the chair as Effie moves toward the two glass balls full of children's names. I don't want to look. I won't look. I know what's going to happen, and I know that staring at my knees like a sullen child won't change what's about to happen, but I'm not being rational. After watching well over 40 kids being slaughtered because I sucked as a mentor and they sucked as tributes, I think I'm entitled to be irrational.

"Ladies first!" In spite of my inebriation my stomach clenches uncomfortably as Effie's hand lowers itself into the glass bowl and I look up, sweeping the crowed for Cray so I can glare at him for taking my bottle. I wanted to be drunk enough by now that I would have no memory of the day's events. Damn Cray. He couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Primrose Everdeen." In spite of myself, I shift my eyes to the pretty little girl in the crowd, whose name has just been called. It's always easy to find the kid whose name's been picked; the crowd backs away like she's a Pariah and she stands alone in the center.

O.o... Reviews get cookies?


	2. Chapter 2

I DO NOT own the characters, plot, setting, etc. As much as I wish I did. It's all Suzanne Collins.

Primrose Everdeen. With blonde hair and blue eyes she definitely doesn't look like she's from the Seam. The girl doesn't even look old enough to be in the Games. They're all too young to die, but this little girl in particular shouldn't be facing death at the hands of the Capitol. I can hear the crowd, unhappy that this little girl in particular is going to face the Games. Undoubtedly she will die, because no one with any sense of self-preservation will take her place and she will be a small, weak competitor in these games unless she's hiding some extraordinary ability behind her fragile facade.

I'm staring at Cray, willing him to burst into flames for stealing my bottle. Then I hear it.

"Prim! Prim!" Another girl pushes her way to the stage, practically running up the steps before shoving Primrose Everdeen behind her. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

I seriously consider that I might be hallucinating when I hear those words come out of her mouth. This new girl is the opposite of Primrose Everdeen. She's a Seam girl, no doubt about that. She's harder, more athletic, and at least a few years older than the girl she's protecting. This girl has a chance.

Effie Trinket, as cheery as ever, seems unsure of herself when she's faced with this new development. "Lovely! But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..."

_Really Effie?_ I want to ask her. _There's no precedent for this in District 12, and you think we need to follow protocol? Are you insane?_

"What does it matter?" The mayor echoes what we're all thinking. "What does it matter? Let her come forward." Considering the alternative is to let the little girl be a tribute, I have to agree wholeheartedly with the man.

Primrose clearly doesn't want this older girl to take her place, screaming and trying to pull her back. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" I want to tell her to let Katniss go, because with all the luck in the world, Katniss might just make it back home to her.

"Prim, let go. Let go!" I have to commend Katniss for not crying. She's a tough one, this one.

A boy pulls Primrose away from her, allowing Katniss to make it up the stairs of the stage and into Effie Trinket's grasp. "Well bravo! That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?" Effie is obviously ecstatic as she says this. Tonight, for the first time since she's been in District 12 for the reaping, she'll get a spotlight feature. She's evidently preparing to milk it for all it's worth.

"Katniss Everdeen." So she's related to Prim. Odd that the two are related since they don't even look like they're from the same part of District 12. Then again, who else would volunteer for someone? Friendship only goes so far when it comes to the Games. Family too, for that matter.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" I want to yell profanities at Effie for trying to make this into some sort of heroic celebration. This is sick and twisted.

The rest of the District must agree with me. No one claps. No one gives Effie Trinket or the Capitol the satisfaction. Instead, they are silent. Instead, they say goodbye to her the way you do in District 12. If I have anything to do with it, I'm going to make sure she comes back. Just to spite the Capitol.

I spontaneously lurch to my feet and grab onto her shoulder. This girl is going to win for District 12. I can feel it. "Look at her. Look at this one! I like her! Lots of..." I think about it for a minute, trying to find the word through the haze "Spunk!"

She's going to show the Capitol. I know she is. "More than you!" I shout, wanting to call the Capitol out as the cowards they are, preying on the children of the Districts. I find a camera, to tell President Snow what I really think about him and his government. "More than you!"

In my rush to get closer to the cameras, to grab one and really drive home the point, I fall off of the stage.

The next thing I know, I feel a cold splash of water hit my face. I splutter, coughing up the lukewarm liquid. Opening my eyes I see Cray standing in front of me with an expression caught somewhere between anger and amusement. Somehow I've ended up back in my kitchen in Victor's Village. I must've gotten knocked unconscious by the fall.

"Haymitch, you drunken lout. Do you have any idea what an idiot you are, taunting the Capitol in public like that? Did it ever occur to you to sober up and keep your mouth shut?"

Taunt the Capitol. I'd taunted the Capitol? Oh. Right. Shit. "Yeah, that might've occurred to me."

A vein in Cray's forehead bulges ever so slightly, and he clenches his fists like he'd be only too happy to wrap them around my neck. "So they picked the other tribute?" I ask, trying to change the subject before Cray can start yelling obscenities. I don't think my blossoming hangover will be able to take it.

"Yes. A boy named Peeta Mellark. He's the baker's son."

From what I know of the baker's sons, they're all strong and capable. Maybe District 12 will have 2 chances at winning this year. These aren't the usual starving Seam kids anyway. District 12 kids rarely make it to the end of the first day.

These Games are going to be interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

I DO NOT own the characters, plot, setting, etc. As much as I wish I did. It's all Suzanne Collins.

I'm off to the Capitol again. 23 years in a row, I've gotten onto this train with 2 kids and come back to District 12 alone. This year I plan to do things differently. This year, one of them is coming back with me. _If_ I can make it happen. I'm sober enough to realize that my earlier conviction that Katniss will win these Games is easier said than done. At least this year I have two tributes with some qualities of merit.

Katniss Everdeen, the girl who took her sister's place, who's determined enough to win this. Peeta Mellark, who I'd immediately labelled as the boy with the gift of the gab when I met him in passing, is universally likeable and will get sponsors purely because of his personality. On their own, they stand half a chance of winning against the other Districts. If it were possible to fuse them together and make one tribute my job would be a lot easier. Separately, this will be a lot harder. I find myself wishing that the Gamemakers would tie the two District members together, to make them stick together.

My resolve wavers when I try to figure out how I'm going to get a tribute home. I've never done it before, and the idea of actually trying and failing the 24th time terrifies me more than being in the arena myself. At least then the worst thing that could happen was that I would die. In some ways, it's worse to watch these kids die. Sometimes, on my dark days, I wish I'd died when I was in the arena so I didn't have to revisit my own Games along with the Games of the kids I'd mentored. Being torn limb from limb, being burnt, being beaten, being starved to death, poisoned... the Capitol's idea of entertainment. That's why I'd taunted the Capitol. If they kill me for that, like Cray suggests they might... well, at least my life will mean something in the end.

When the dark thoughts start to flow through my mind, I reach for the bottle next to me.

A while later the smell of food wafts into my room, signalling that it's supper. I figure I should go. I can't think straight. Maybe the meal will help clear my head. I make my way to the meal compartment of the train, holding on to the walls to keep my balance.

When I finally make it through the door, I spot Effie Trinket, looking like she's in the middle of a lecture. Certainly not her usual bubbly, self-absorbed self. It looks like they've already eaten.

"I miss supper?" I ask, wanting to diffuse what looks like a tense situation by changing the subject. I must've overdone it on the alcohol though, and end up puking on the carpeted Capitol floor. I can't stand up any more without something to anchor me in place, and fall.

The kids lift me up, one on other side of me. "I tripped?" I ask, sniffing and wiping my sticky face. "Smells bad." That's putting it lightly. It absolutely reeks.

After that, I hear them talking but I can't make out the words. I'm vaguely aware of the taste of soapy water mixed with the acidic taste of vomit, before finding myself in bed. My stomach grumbles, but sleep overrules the need to eat.

[I sort've rushed through this one because I want to get away from sullen drunk Haymitch as soon as possible and get stuck into his better side]


	4. Chapter 4

Again, I DO NOT own the characters, plot, setting, etc. As much as I wish I did. It's all Suzanne Collins.

Yay, slightly-less-drunk Haymitch! WOOT! Enjoy and thanks for the reviews guys!

When I wake up the next morning I feel better than I have in a long time. I feel refreshed, even. I feel clean, calm, cool, and collected. I barely have a hangover, which is a miracle in itself since I don't remember most of what happened yesterday afternoon after we got on the train, so I must've been pretty drunk. All I know is that I'm starving like I haven't eaten for a week.

I get up, stretch, put on some clothes (because coming to breakfast naked would just be mean to dear old proper Effie first thing in the morning), and walk toward the meal compartment on the train. Effie's already at the table along with Peeta. She's sitting with her back to me, deep into some sort of story about who designed her wig this year, and even though he's nodding politely in all the right places it's pretty clear Peeta's bored out of his mind.

I walk up behind Effie with a light foot, and I know Peeta sees me coming by the small flick of his eyes in my direction. I wink at Peeta, grab Effie by the shoulders, and give her a big wet kiss on the cheek. She jumps up, her coffee cup landing on the floor with a resounding crack, before letting out a sound of disgust and wiping off her face. She pushes me out of the way and I seat myself next to her, taking a bite out of the nearest muffin.

"Good morning Effie!" I say, trying to mimic her cheerful reaping voice with a mouthful of food. By the look on her face I can tell that she wants to do me bodily harm, but settles for getting up on the pretence of getting a new cup from the kitchen. She stalks out of the room muttering darkly under her breath, and I can't help but chuckle. Good ol' Effs. Always good for a laugh.

Peeta's staring at me, looking a little red about what he's just witnessed. I grin at him, laughing louder and causing Peeta to turn even redder with embarrassment. He must be such an innocent little kid if a thing like that can embarrass him.

Effie comes back with her new cup of coffee, obviously still pretty annoyed as she walks past Katniss. The obscenities she's muttering are incredibly un-Effie-like, and they make me like her more. Too bad she couldn't be like that all the time. We might get along with one another.

"Sit down! Sit down!" I say to Katniss, waving to the empty chair across the table. The ride to the Capitol is really the only positive experience to the Games for the District 12 kids. They never get enough to eat back home, and here they get to stuff themselves to the point of puking with the world's finest foods. I want them to enjoy it while it lasts because food won't come so readily in the Arena.

"They call it hot chocolate. It's good." Peeta says to Katniss. I wonder if they know one another. Civility between the tributes of District 12 isn't that common. Usually the kids I get don't talk to one another unless they're related or best friends. They're too busy thinking about the fact that the other one has to die if they're going to have any chance of winning.

That thought clouds my good mood. I might be able to get away from the Games for awhile, but it always comes back to the forefront of my mind before long. I pour a splash of spirits into my cranberry juice to help steady me.

I can see Katniss looking at me from the corner of her eye. Looking at me like I'm a hopeless drunk and a horrible mentor. I can't say I disagree with her, but in my defense I am going to try this year.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," she says to me.

Well, now is as good a time as any to prove whether these two are worth it, and whether they have any fight in them. I want to provoke them, to make them angry. Tributes who've resigned themselves to death are hardly worth my effort or sobriety. I've given every tribute the same advice, and every time they've resigned themselves to death. "Here's some advice. Stay alive," I reply, laughing loudly and with an edge of madness. There's no one fool-proof strategy to winning the Games, and those with hard-set strategies end up dead. It's sound advice, really.

"That's very funny," Peeta says, before hitting my alcohol-laden glass of juice off the table. It shatters on the floor and makes one hell of a mess. He looks me straight in the eye as he says his next words, staring at me in accusation as he carefully enunciates every word. "Only not to us."

Part of me is furious that he spilled my booze and part of me is surprised into action. I punch Peeta hard in the jaw, and reach for the spirits still on the table. I figure that Peeta's given up the fight, but the next thing I know I'm staring at a knife between my fingers courtesy of Katniss Everdeen. She's tense, fully expecting to be hit in return.

Holy. Hell.

I was hoping for a spark, but instead I have a full-on fire with these two. I squint at the two tributes, sizing them up. "Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" I force down the excitement building in me and focus on the task at hand.

Peeta's putting ice to his face, but I have a better idea. "No, let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it into the arena." Potential sponsors would love that.

"That's against the rules," says Peeta.

Ah Peeta, there's only one real rule: kill or be killed. Everything else is really only a guideline. "Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better."

I turn to regard Katniss who's still looking at me like she's bracing for a punch. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" District 12 kids aren't exactly weapons-centric, but the knife she'd wedged securely between my fingers begs to differ.

She grabs it and throws it. It lands right on the seam between the panels of the wall. My heart stops for a minute as I take it in. Not only is she full of spunk, but she's also able to wield a weapon like a pro. My excitement builds, and I'm hard-pressed to contain it.

"Stand over here. Both of you." I wave them over to the middle of the room and circle around them, inspecting them. It's the first time I've properly looked over tributes as tributes instead of corpses. I feel their muscles, pinch their skin, and examine their faces as I circle around them. Not bad. Not bad at all.

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." They'll get some sponsors despite being from District 12, I'm sure of it. Anyone can see that these two aren't our usual tributes.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you." I'm not going to promise not to drink at all because that would be a complete lie. "But you have to do exactly what I say."

"Fine," Peeta seems resigned that I'm the best he's got, so he's just going to go with it.

"So help us," Katniss says, determined to get a 'how to' speech on winning this thing. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone- "

I stop her before she can ask a hundred questions that I have no answers to. "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But-"

I know what she's thinking. District 12 stylists are synonymous with nudity and charcoal. It's not pleasant, but I met Cinna and Portia last year in passing, and I don't think they're so unoriginal as to beat a dead horse. "Don't resist."

I'm done arguing, and I'm done giving advice for now. They can either take it or leave it. I take my bottle from the table and swing the door shut behind me.

[Reviews make me write faster/more. Just sayin']


	5. Chapter 5

There's a _slight_ nod to Haymitch's Games in here, so I guess there's a **bit of a CF Spoiler** for those of you who haven't read it yet. Pretty brief, you might even miss it. Thanks to all who reviewed. I like them all whether they're good, bad, or indifferent. Or if you want to pitch an idea you think would be cool to add in. There's only one way to learn what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. Opinions matter.

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's ALL Suzanne Collins. *bows down***

While Katniss and Peeta are at the mercy of Cinna and Portia, I'm at the mercy of my own stylist and a 4-member prep team. This stylist takes care of the mentors of the even-numbered Districts, and it just so happens that this is his first Games. I'm his last client of the day. He's fresh out of ideas, and I have no patience to sit here. I'm positive the Capitol politicians and Gamemakers couldn't give a sweet flying fart what I look like. Potential sponsors might, but that's what Effie is for. She brings them in and I seal the deal. I have the brains and she has the looks. A match made in heaven.

Despite saying to my tributes that they shouldn't resist, I hypocritically do. I'm surly when I drink and I've been steadily drinking since I left my tributes in their stylists' hands. Considering how long I've already been with the stylist, Katniss and Peeta are probably already making their way to the opening ceremonies without me. That would make me nervous, but Effie will make sure they go where they need to be.

My stylist is some young little puke who mentions that "drunk chic is _so last year_". Rationally I know that I shouldn't strangle him, but that doesn't stop me from clenching my fists while I imagine that they're wrapped tightly around his neck. I breathe slowly in through my mouth and let it out of my nose. Counting to ten. Getting into Zen mode.

Nothing aggravates me more than people from the Capitol. Thinking about the entertainment they got from watching me almost die as I held my guts in... it makes me want to do something to make them experience some modicum of the pain and fear that I have. If I had it my way I would nonstop drink the entire time so I'd have no memory of the Capitol. I think I'd be much happier if I were gooned the entire time.

I keep telling myself that my tributes need me while I suffer through being primped and scraped within an inch of my life, and that it wouldn't help them if I were to be tried for murdering this man and his team of monkeys. The prep team uses something that burns with excruciating potency on my skin, mentioning that it's "to clean the alcohol build-up out of my pores" or some such nonsense.

Yeah. I'm a drunk. I get it. It's not like it's the world's best kept secret. Personally I think the people of the Capitol enjoy seeing me in my inebriated state, and making me look less drunk will just be a disappointment. Watching me fall off the stage is part of the entertainment. I vow to drink more to re-block my pores, to spite this team of orange-skinned Capitol freaks.

My little puke of a stylist grabs my head, inspecting my hair with a comb. "I think we should dye it green," he says with unabashed excitement, expecting a similar reaction from me for his idea.

"Well _I_ think I should shove that comb up your-"

"Haymitch!" Effie says, bursting through the door enthusiastically. Her hands are in the air, half-raised in celebration

"What is it, Effie dearest?" I ask, slurring through clenched teeth. My stylist and his team are standing around me in silence and with mouths agape, apparently shocked and appalled by what I'd just said to them.

Effie's smile falters when she sees the facial expressions in the room. "I'll...uh... come back later," she replies with a false-sounding giggle, leaving the room as quickly as she entered, but not before glaring at me accusingly. I guess I rained on her parade.

"You dye my hair, I break your fingers," I say when I turn my attention back to the stylist, deadly serious. I'm willing to compromise but he doesn't seem keen to suffer personal damage for the sake of my fashion.

When I leave, my hair is its original colour, if a little cleaner.

"Haymitch!"

It's hours later, but that voice can only mean one thing. Effie finds me sitting in my room on the 12th floor of the Training Centre, halfway through unscrewing the lid to liquid serenity. She "tisks" at me disapprovingly, before crossing the room and tearing the bottle out of my hands.

"Can I help you?" I ask, never taking my eyes off of the bottle. I'm grumpy, there's no doubt about that. Whatever was in all those things that the Capitol stylist has applied to my skin has made me unbearably sober and incredibly itchy. I haven't been this sober in the Capitol in a long time, and I don't like it one bit. There are too many bad memories in this place. I figure the sooner I get rid of Effie, the sooner I can get plastered, so I might as well play nice.

"Katniss and Peeta made an absolutely _magnificent_ entrance at the opening ceremonies. I've been talking to people all day, and I think I've found some potential sponsors. But they want to know more about your tributes. About their _strategies_." Effie's practically shaking with excitement. I don't think I've ever seen Miss. Trinket to wound up.

I watched part of the opening ceremonies from afar after my stylist was done with me, and I have to say that it _was_ magnificent. Probably the first time in history that District 12 literally outshone all the others in outfits that resembled open flames. "I don't have a strategy for them Effie. I thought I'd just wing it." For now, anyway. Maybe I would think of something strategy-like later. I'm still hoping that my tributes end up tied together by the Gamemakers. That way I can keep an eye on both of them at once if nothing else.

It's hard to think about making tributes stick together, because in the end at least one of them is going to have to die. If the two of them make it to the end together, one has to die at the hands of the other. Killing your own District member isn't something I would wish on anyone. Watching them die is bad enough. I don't know what would've happened if I'd had to kill my own.

"_Wing_ it? You thought you'd just _wing _it? This District finally gets a pair of tributes that aren't completely _hopeless_, and you just sit here _drinking_?" Effie flies into a rage, waving her arms around to enunciate her points. "You don't plan, you don't talk to sponsors, you don't _think_! You're a despicable human being Haymitch!"

She's so angry that I can almost see smoke coming out of her nostrils. This tension has been building since day one, and at least one of us is going to detonate. "Is there anything else you'd like to say to me _Dear_?" I ask her with as much condescension as I can muster as my own anger bubbles to the surface. "Because if you don't _mind_, I'd like to have a little _drink_." I bend forward it my seat, reaching for my bottle.

Effie's eyes flash dangerously before she furiously throws my half-open bottle at the wall. I watch it as it arcs gracefully across the small room in slow motion, before shattering and showering both of us with liberal amounts of alcohol. Effie's breathing loudly and I'm staring dumbly at the wall, still firmly seated, my hand still stretched out at Effie as if to take back my stolen bottle.

There's a split second of silence between us before the bomb explodes. Effie lets out a wordless screech and launches herself at me, perfectly-manicured fingernails leading the way, and I know she'd like nothing better than to gouge out my eyes. Right now I feel the same way about her and yell right back.

Her leap dislodges me from the chair and we both roll across the floor before jumping up. She launches at me again, and I grab her arms and twist them around each other. Her nails settle for scraping down my arms as we yell freely at one another. It's hard to make sense of what either one of us is saying. I try to push her towards the door, but Effie is either a lot stronger than she looks, or I've gotten weak in my old drunken age, because she's not going to leave without a fight. We scream obscenities at each other, spit flying in all directions and mingling with the potent smell of spirits.

When I finally get her within a foot of the door after a few solid minutes of gouging and shouting and pushing, Effie's hands relax against my arms and she stops screaming. Surprised, I let my hold on her arms loosen and stop myself in mid-yell, trying to figure out what made her stop.

She takes advantage of my lowered guard to knee me in the crotch before straightening her wig and sauntering out of the room with a huff. "Idiot," she says, stopping to slam the door behind her. _Good old Effs_, I think to myself as I lay on the floor in fetal position, cupping my groin and wincing. _Always good for a laugh._

[Hehehe. Props for sadism?]


	6. Chapter 6

As always, thanks for the reviews. They keep me writing!

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's ALL Suzanne Collins.**

Later, I show up at dinner to watch the recap of the opening ceremonies. I must be right on time, since the food is just coming out. Cinna and Portia are there, as well as the two tributes and Effie. The seat across from Effie is the only empty one so I'm forced to sit there. We look at one another and silently call a truce. For now. My arms throb where she dug her fingernails into the skin, and I only just got the bleeding to stop. Those fingernails are deadly weapons, and I'd almost like to ask Cinna if it would be possible to do Katniss's like that for the arena.

Despite wrinkling her nose when I take a glass of the offered wine, Effie doesn't say anything about my drinking. We exchange random pleasantries and talk about the weather and the costumes at the opening ceremonies. Mostly we just eat, and try to keep Portia and Cinna from seeing what a dysfunctional pair we are. No need to scare off the designers. Fashion is an integral part of the Games too, since everyone in the Capitol pays attention to what the tributes are wearing. Without them we'll be pretty screwed.

Katniss, who to my amusement has been getting steadily tipsier for the last hour, looks at the flaming dessert in front of her. I'm starting to think I might want to cut her off the wine so she doesn't wake up tomorrow with a raging hangover. Training is too important to have your mind focused elsewhere. "What makes it burn? Is it alcohol? That's the last thing I wa- oh! I know you!"

Everyone at the table looks up to see what she's on about. Katniss is talking to the servant like she knows her. The faces at the table range from bemusement to alarm, and no one sees this as harmlessly running in to an old friend. Even the servant looks alarmed, before shaking her head and quickly leaving the room.

Huh? "Don't be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox? The very thought." Effie's anger at me is being redirected at Katniss. She looks ready to launch into a lecture, and I give her a kick in the shin underneath the table to divert her. I think she'd like to call off the truce right here and now, but she settles for glaring at me. _If looks could kill_, I think, swiftly turning my attention back to Katniss. I know I'm going to pay for that later. How badly and how much later are the only questions. _Hell_, I think to myself. _I've already been bagged; it can't be that bad_.

"What's an Avox?" she asks.

I jump to explain, to keep Effie from taking out her annoyance on Katniss instead of me. I flash Effie a look to say that if she wants to beat the living snot out of me, she's welcome to do so when we're alone. "Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak. She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her." I hope not anyway.

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order. Of course, you don't really know her." Effie looks a little panicked, and I'm definitely feeling it too. Apparently she's thinking along the same lines as I am. If Katniss knows an Avox... well, it was better not to think of the implications that could have in the arena. Knowing a traitor is just a small step down from _being_ a traitor. Any suspected connection she had to this girl could be dangerous, and there were undoubtedly cameras hidden all around this building to keep a close eye on the tributes and the mentors. Here's hoping our conversation thus far was boring enough to make anyone watching tune us out.

"No, I guess not, I just-" Katniss says, trying to backtrack. We remain silent, hoping she comes up with something reasonable to explain why exactly she mistook an Avox for something she knows.

Peeta snaps his fingers, and we all look at him expectantly. "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." Peeta comes to the rescue, providing an explanation that sounds totally plausible. I'm still paranoid but I don't know Delly Cartwright back in District 12, so I'm probably just being stupid.

"Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair."

"Something about the eyes, too."

We all visibly relax as they feed us an explanation. Maybe she's just wound-up and starting to see things. Stress can do that to a person and alcohol doesn't always help. "Oh, well. If that's all it is. And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honour of your fiery debut." Cinna says.

Conversation switches to the opening ceremonies while we eat the delicious cake. It's the first time I've seen it up close, and they both look radiant. Like living fires. I don't know a lot about the Capitol's idea of fashion, but I do know those costumes are spectacular. We make appreciative sounds for the designers, who've without a doubt given our tributes the edge this year. I'm guessing we'll only have them for this year, since now that everyone knows what they can do they'll likely get bumped up to a better District than ours.

Something strikes me when I see Katniss and Peeta together on the screen. Something that I'd missed before. "Whose idea was the hand holding?" I ask as I notice it for the first time. I hope that the answer is one of my tributes. That would mean they've made a conscious decision to stick together.

"Cinna's" Portia replies.

Apparently Cinna feels the same way that I do, that these tributes should present a united front in the arena. The kids will probably agree with the idea more if it's coming from him anyway. I _am_ the resident drunk of District 12, with the blood of more kids on my hands than can be easily measured. I take a drink to banish the thought. "Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice."

The other District tributes plainly look like they want nothing to do with one another. They stand feet apart from each other, making sure they're barely within touching distance. Almost like they're expecting the other tribute has a knife, and they want to ensure that they can get away and fight back as soon as they see the gleam of silver that hints at their demise. Sure, some of them will team up once the Games begin, but it'll be purely for self-protection. Besides, it's much easier to slit a person's throat in the dead of night if they think you're allies and drop their guard. Sleep makes even the most powerful tribute vulnerable. I slept with a knife in my grasp to account for that problem. I still do, decades later, expecting someone to come for me. Cray learned the importance of waking me up from a distance the last time he got knifed in the leg.

I think of how close the Games are, and how little time my tributes have left to prepare themselves for the task ahead. I drain the rest of my wine before I speak again. "Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it." I say to them. "Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

They leave the room, and I'm left there with Portia, Cinna, and Effie. They stare at me expectantly and I open another bottle of wine, giving everyone including myself a liberal splash. We're going to need it.

"Right." I say when I'm sure my tributes are off somewhere out of earshot. "So we have to decide how we're going to play this thing. I think we need to present these kids as a united team. At least for the beginning of the Games, before things get dirty." _If they last for that long_, I think to myself. I'm optimistic - especially now that I know they have some sponsors lined up courtesy of Effie - but I'm not stupid. The minute you get complacent is the minute your tribute ends up with a spear in the back.

There's nodding around the table, so I continue uninterrupted. "But I think there might be some resistance from these two. So we have to tell them to keep close together publicly until the Games begin, and then _hope_ that they'll stay together, since we can't exactly babysit them in the arena." Maybe I should suggest to the Head Gamemaker that tying the tributes from the same Districts together would be entertaining. I wouldn't put it past them to make that happen at the last minute.

"Actually..." Portia cuts in, clearing her throat. "I think Peeta might be okay with the idea of keeping together."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why do you think that?" She probably knows better than I do. I tend not to get to know these kids anymore. I don't ask the difficult questions. It makes it harder to get through the day when they're dead and you know the stories behind the names and faces.

"Because... I asked him about her. Asked if he knew her. Out of my own curiosity. And... just the look on his face when he talks about her..." She stares hard at the glass of wine in front of her, like she's trying to focus her thoughts before looking up at us again. "...well, I just don't think he would find the idea of working together with her to be that repulsive."

"You mean, he _likes_ her?" Effie asks giddily, clapping her hands together like a 3-year-old with a new toy. Any lingering annoyance with me seems to have disappeared in light of this revelation. I wish I could distract myself as easily as she could. I have to wonder what the inside of her head is like. Mine is like a one-way street, and hers is like a road interspersed with plenty of side roads to get lost on while she travels to the end.

"I... don't know about that... I didn't ask him directly," Portia replies in an almost-whisper, looking a little nonplussed by Effie's excitement. One of them is going to die, so any images she's forming about 'happily ever afters' between these two need to be rethought.

"What about Katniss?" I ask Cinna. It takes two to tango and without Katniss there can be no District 12 team once they're in the arena.

"Not sure," he replies, staring at me, his glance unwavering. He has that same accusing look that Peeta gave me on the train, and it makes my skin crawl. "She seems like she wants to keep to herself. I mean, for her to win..."

He let the words hang there, but we all know the answer. He will have to die, and getting attached to someone who might have to die at your hands is easier said than done. "Well, we'll work something out," I say with a sigh, chugging the rest of my wine before slamming the glass on the table and getting up to go to bed. "I'll make them a team whether they like it or not."


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for reviewing! I know I quote pretty heavily in this chapter, but after this it won't be _quite_ so much. I want to get to the Games soon, to write about what Haymitch is up to behind the scenes.

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's ALL Suzanne Collins.**

Despite the wine, the enormity of what I'm about to do sets in. I can't sleep. I end up tossing and turning, too scared to lose conscious awareness. I see tributes in my dreams at night, and being in the Capitol makes them 10 times worse. Kids with hungry faces, bodies emaciated as they starve to death in desert conditions. Kids clawing at their throats, faces turning colours as they struggle to breathe, poisoned. Kids with blood dripping off the edges of their skin, gored or stabbed or beaten to death. Every time, just when I think the worst is over, the perspective changes and _I'm_ the kid starving or suffocating or bleeding to death.

I know that I promised these kids I will stay sober enough to help them, but guilt makes it tempting to break that promise. I want to forget the guilt. Guilt that I couldn't save those kids from District 12 the past 23 years that I've been a mentor. Guilt that either Peeta or Katniss, or both of them, are going to die in these Games. Guilt that I'm still alive, when I'm just some paunchy middle-aged man who drinks to forget the things that happen outside my happy little bubble, while kids with their whole lives ahead of them end up slaughtered for the sake of entertainment.

The next morning I'm exhausted, but I pull myself out of bed. Today is when my real work begins. Today my tributes start training. I dress slowly and walk to breakfast at a snail's pace. Maybe if I go slowly enough time will stop and the Games will never begin.

Every year I keep waiting for something to intervene, or for the people of the Capitol to realize how barbaric it is to steal our children and make them fight. I want them to rise up against their own beloved government, and release us all from this nightmare. The people of the Capitol are too comfortable with their lives, and comfortable people are complacent. Even _they_ are under the control of the government, whether they realize it or not.

There's been talk of rebellion in the Districts for years, bubbling just below the surface, but it won't come to pass. The only outside contact we have with other Districts is through the mentors of the Games, and any time we're together, we're under constant surveillance. It wouldn't do to have us inciting a rebellion when we're supposed to be overseeing the murder of our children. Every whispered word is silenced; every note that is passed is snatched by the nearest Peacekeeper.

I enter the room right behind Peeta and start loading up my plate with food. Katniss looks annoyed, and I follow her line of sight to figure out what's bugging her. She's looking at Peeta and then at herself, and it takes me a minute to figure out that they're dressed in the same outfit. Like a team. She doesn't look happy about it but she doesn't say anything, so I figure Cinna and I have won this fight for now.

I pack in as much stew as it's possible to eat and chug down a few cups of coffee, before taking out my flask and taking a long drink. Good. Now to sort out the plan for the day. I lean on my elbows and look at my tributes. They look back at me, paying close attention to every word I say. "So. Lets get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." I've never offered to coach kids together, but I want to work with Cinna to make these two want to work together.

"Why would you coach us separately?" Katniss asks. That's exactly what I want to hear. Even Katniss, who seems to want to go it alone, is subconsciously buying in to the idea of District 12 being a team. Before she knows it Cinna and I will have her thinking that being a team was her own idea.

"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," I say. Peeta already seems to know she's good with a knife. Unless she's hiding something bigger than the ability to stab someone, I don't think she has anything to hide.

She looks at Peeta, who says "I don't have any secret skills. And I know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels."

This catches me off guard. Squirrels? What, she can run fast enough to catch them? Maybe she traps them? Surely she doesn't throw knives at them. That would just be messy.

"You can coach us together," she affirms.

"All right," I say, sitting back and rubbing my hands together, "So give me some idea of what you can do." District 12 is at a distinct disadvantage as far as any special abilities go, since they don't learn the District trade until after their reaping days are over. I'm just counting my lucky stars that Katniss can chuck a knife and that Peeta looks like he might be able to bench-press me. Neither one of these tributes is some starved-looking creature who's never had a proper meal.

"I can't do anything. Unless you count baking bread," Peeta replies.

Making bread isn't exactly integral to the Games. Neither is cake-decorating or cookie-baking. He might be able to start a decent fire since he works in a bakery, but unless you have a sizeable group of allies to watch your back, having a fire would be the epitome of stupidity. "Sorry, I don't. Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife." I've really been building up this knife thing in my head. For all I know it could've been a lucky shot when she speared it between my fingers and landed it neatly in the wall.

"Not really. But I can hunt. With a bow and arrow." Hunting. In District 12. _Someone's_ _been flaunting the law_ I think to myself with the ghost of a grin. Back in the day she would get whipped within an inch of her life, but this generation of Peacekeepers are a little more relaxed so far as following the laws goes. I'll have to thank them next time I see them. Buy them a card or something to show gratitude for their ineptitude.

"And you're good?" I ask with a hint of desperation. She might be able to hunt a few slow-moving rabbits, but there's a distinct difference between some furry little critter looking for a bit of grass to chew on and a tribute fighting for their life.

She thinks about it for a minute. "I'm all right." Oh. So nothing special then. Oh well. I'm about to move on when Peeta interrupts.

"She's excellent," he argues. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer."

Interesting. Deer are about as close to frightened, blood-hungry tributes as you are about to get in 12. Maybe I have something here. I just wish my tributes would tell me straight what they're good and bad at, instead of meekly inferring that they might be okay at something. They're both annoyed at one another for the same thing.

The next few minutes mainly consist of me looking back and forth between my tributes, like I'm watching an intense sports game that neither one wants to lose. Peeta argues that Katniss shouldn't sell herself short, and she argues that he's selling himself short by not mentioning his wrestling prowess and weight-lifting abilities. She's looking at him oddly like Effie did yesterday before she smashed my bottle, and I'm starting to think I should step in and stop this before someone gets hurt. Namely Peeta. Women are dangerous creatures.

"... You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say goodbye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!"

Ouch. I want to wince sympathetically but fight to keep a straight face and pretend like I didn't just hear that. I gotta give the kid credit for not laying down and giving up when his own mother wrote him off. This outburst stops Katniss from her verbal onslaught, and she calms down somewhat as she considers this.

"Oh, she meant you," she says after a moment. By the look on Peeta's face I'm not so sure. It doesn't look like he's lying; the poor kid looks close to tears. Besides, that's not generally something that someone would lie about.

"She said 'she's a survivor, that one.' _She_ is."

"But only because someone helped me." She gives him a meaningful look, and I'm left wondering what exactly the history is between my tributes. They don't seem like the best of friends to me, but there's something in their pasts that I'm completely out of the loop on.

"People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." He's not wrong. After taking her sister's place, having a magnificent fiery debut, and with all that determination lingering just below the surface, sponsors will go crazy for the likes of Katniss Everdeen. They already have, and if she can keep up a good show when she's in the arena, more will soon follow.

He turns to me, and says "She has no idea. The effect she can have."

Knowing what Portia said about Peeta's perception of Katniss yesterday, this seems to me like it's verging on a confession of the way he feels about her, without saying it outright. Katniss looks confused by this statement and I figure it's time to move on. We've only just coerced her into team mode, and I don't want to scare her off the idea because of some boy-likes-girl confession. This is a fight to the death, so I don't see how that sort of knowledge would make this any easier. "Well, then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee they'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"

"I know a few basic snares."

"That may be significant in terms of food. And Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"

They nod in agreement. You can't really argue with common sense. Having the other tributes know what you can do might be alright for the Careers, since everyone knows that they're fighting machines by birth, but if they knew that my tributes were capable of anything spectacular, they'd kill them off right away to get rid of the competition. It's easier to kill someone at the Cornucopia than it is to get them later. A quick spear in the back does wonders to change the outcome of the Games.

"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute." I can see they're both going to argue, and smack my hand on the table to shut them up. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Peeta looks resigned, but Katniss looks disgusted. I know she's thinking this is all a farce. Peeta is the enemy, so why in the hell would she want to put on a show and make it seem like they were going to work together until the bitter end? I want to tell her that chances are someone else will kill Peeta before she has to face him herself, even if they _do_ end up working together. Or she might end up being killed before he has to kill her. There are 22 other tributes and plenty of 'accidents' that have been engineered by the Gamemakers, so the odds are in their favour as far as that's concerned.

She's biting her lip. She probably wants to yell at me, but settles for stalking out of the room with Peeta following distantly behind her. A minute later I hear the slamming of a door and I wince. "Cheer up Sweetheart," I say to the empty room, taking another drag on my flask. "Being angry means you're still alive."


	8. Chapter 8

Happy B-day to me! Happy B-day to me! I've got nothing better to do but eat cake so I'm writing fanfiction! Happy B-day to me! XD

Thanks for the reviews! I love hearing what you guys think!

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins. Seriously. If you haven't read The Hunger Games yet, you need to do it. Like, right now. Have you read it yet? Good. Now make all of your friends read it so you can all discuss how awesome it is. **

Effie makes sure they get to training on time and my tributes do everything from tying knots to camouflaging themselves. Most importantly they do it together. Peeta is such an open and welcoming person, that I think even Katniss starts to get sucked in by him. For the next few days, I see how much closer they're getting, even if Katniss is still resistant. I remind them daily (while looking plainly at Katniss) that they need to keep together in public. To appear as amiable as possible. I don't know what they talk about and I don't care. They could moan about what a pain in the ass I am if they want, as long as they keep up a friendly conversation.

Since we can't watch them train during the day, Effie and I ask them countless questions at night when we're around the dinner table on the 12th floor. We need to know everything. Everything they did, every look they got, every word spoken. Nothing can be overlooked. Effie's truce with me has lasted since the night that she slammed the door on me. Our unspoken agreement is that the tributes are our number one priority. Sure, she probably has an ulterior motive. She wants to get sent to a better District next year, and this might be her chance. I guess I have an ulterior motive too, since I want to do something right for once.

On the third day of training my tributes are sent in to see the Gamemakers. Again District 12 gets the short end of the stick, since they have to go last. If I know anything about Gamemakers from my own experience in front of them, they aren't the most patient and attentive of people. I hope my tributes pull some high numbers so they can attract a few more sponsors.

Peeta comes up to the 12th floor first, slowly dragging his feet, and sits with Effie, Cinna, Portia, and me in the dining room. "How'd it go?" Effie asks brightly, giving his shoulder a motherly squeeze. He shrugs, and looks up at me before saying "It could've been worse."

I'm about to question him further when I hear the elevator open and feet pounding down the carpeted hallway. Running fast, like someone fleeing a rabid dog. "Katniss?" I call out. We hear a door slam. Effie and I exchange a worried glance, and hurry to her door. I try to open it but it's locked.

"Katniss?" I ask again, worried, while Effie and I pound on the door. "Katniss, what's wrong? What happened?" I want to ask '_What did you do? Kill a Gamemaker or something?'_ But I shouldn't joke. Maybe she actually did.

"Go away!" She yells, half-sobbing.

"Why don't you come out and we can talk about it?" Effie asks, trying to keep the cheer in her voice despite looking as worried as I feel.

"GO AWAY!" She screams again, louder. The door stays shut, and it's pretty obvious that she's not going to be coming out for awhile.

"Well this is just great," I whisper to Effie, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "What the hell am I supposed to do with _that_?" I've never experienced a shouting teenage girl before. I'm not a parent for pretty obvious reasons, and I feel completely out of my depth. Teenage girls are not my forte. I glance at Effie for some sort of enlightenment as to what to do in this situation. Surely she knows something about teenage girls. She was one once. "You're a girl," I say, a little pointedly.

"_And_?" she retorts, crossing her arms. I know I'm getting into dangerous territory for some reason I can't fathom. Saying she was a girl was sort of stating the obvious, wasn't it? Did I say something offensive in those few words?

I push on nonetheless, and the angry look on Effie's face just gets angrier. "So... tell me. What am I supposed to do to stop her from throwing a tantrum?" Surely girls know this sort of thing about other girls.

"I wouldn't know. I have _never_ thrown a tantrum in my life!" she hisses at me, slapping a hand against my chest to enunciate her point.

Oh, so what would she call the little incident when she smashed my last good bottle of spirits from the Seam and proceeded to pummel me? A happy accident? "Well that's _really funny_, Effie dearest, because to me it looks like that's what you're doing _right now_."

"You know what, Haymitch? You can just-" she's half-yelling at me, her face contorted in fury, but a noise makes us stop and turn.

"Ahem." Cinna clears his throat loudly, looking at us with raised eyebrows. Effie and I step away from one another, looking innocently off in opposite directions. We'd completely forgotten that the stylists were here. "If I could make a suggestion..." he looks at both of us to make sure we don't object to the intrusion "we should just give her some time. She might come out on her own."

Awhile later, when dinner's about to be served, Effie meekly raps on the door to tell Katniss she can come eat. If she wants to. She does come out of the room, but she looks completely miserable. I wait for awhile to let her collect herself, before I start asking questions to my two tributes.

"Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?" I can tell by the looks on their faces that it could have been a lot better.

Peeta's experience doesn't seem like it was that bad when he explains it. Sure, the Gamemakers were in the middle of a drinking song, but at least they saw how much weight he could lift. Just for physical appearance he should get a decent score.

"And you, sweetheart?" I ask Katniss a little mockingly, to cover up my worry. She's the one I'm particularly nervous about. It must've been bad, since she's spent the whole afternoon crying about it.

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers." We all stop in mid-chew and look at her. I certainly wasn't expecting her to say that. I know I shouldn't laugh, but the absurdity of what she did makes me want to. I clench my teeth and cover my mouth with a hand to stop myself.

"You what?" Effie asks, clearly horrified by the very thought. I look around the table to see if anyone else is finding the humour in this. Nope. Just me.

Katniss explains how the frustration at being ignored caused her to shoot the apple out of the mouth of the freshly roasted pig. How they didn't say anything, and she dismissed herself in a bout of anger. She has a fiery temper, this one. Panem is going to love her.

I butter a roll, nonchalant. "Well, that's that," I say. She's worried that they'll arrest her, and I fight back a laugh to explain that they most likely wouldn't. What happens in the Training Center, stays in the Training Center. They would have to explain why exactly they were arresting a tribute, and that would just cause more trouble. Can't have the Districts thinking that tributes are defying the Gamemakers. That could cause a rebellion, and then where would we be?

I tell Katniss the worst thing that will happen is that they'll go out of their way to make her life in the arena a living hell. Peeta points out that it's already _going _to be a living hell. So really, there's nothing for her to worry about. She looks a little less morose now that she knows they aren't going to haul her away and execute her on the spot.

I let out the laugh that's been building, thinking about what it must've been like to have an arrow shot in your direction by an angry tribute, only to land neatly in the pig's mouth. "What were their faces like?"

That finally gets a bit of a smile out of her. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them. One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch."

We're all laughing. Well, except Effie, but she doesn't have that horrified look plastered on her face anymore. "Well, it serves them right," she says. "It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District 12 is no excuse to ignore you." She looks around the table like she's expecting one of us to argue with her. If there weren't cameras everywhere I'd say something about how we all know that they're the slime of the earth, but that would only hurt my tributes in the long run. "I'm sorry, but that's what I think."

We talk about scores, waiting for them to show up on the screen. Both of my tributes are worried that they'll get scores so low that no one will take them seriously. I'm not so sure. If a Gamemaker wants to make a tribute's life hell, the best way to do it is to give them a high score. Peeta gets an eight.

Katniss gets an eleven. I let out a low whistle at that, but it's unheard amid Effie's squealing and handclapping. "There must be a mistake," Katniss says, confused about how she'd gotten such a high number. "How... how could that happen?" she turns to ask me.

"Guess they liked your temper. They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat." _Or they want you to be the number one target once the Games begin_, I say to myself. Shooting an arrow at them was bound to have some consequences.

Soon enough Katniss has gone back to her room, and the stylists rise to leave. Even Effie politely yawns and heads to bed. I'm left sitting there with Peeta, who's staring at the television screen with his face in his hand. The scores of the tributes still flash past intermittently on a loop, while the commentator's pre-taped remarks about each tribute are heard. "You should go to bed kid," I tell him. "Busy day tomorrow."

It's like he doesn't hear me. I'm about to give up and go to bed myself, when he turns to me. "Haymitch," he says, like he's trying to make sure he's got my attention.

"Yeah kid?"

"We both know I'm not going to win this thing." He says it with no emotion, turning back to the screen, where Katniss's face makes its appearance in the loop with the number 11 flashing beneath it.

"Don't sell yourself short kid. Nothing's over until it's-"

"Haymitch," he cuts me off mid-pep-talk. "I don't want to be teamed up with Katniss in the arena. I know that's what you're trying to make us do, I'm not an idiot."

I can't say I'm surprised that one of them has an objection to being part of a team going in to the arena, but I am surprised that it's Peeta. "So how do you want to play this, kid? Gonna step off your plate before the 60 seconds is up?" I scoff. He's given up on himself and he doesn't want to stick with the girl who might be able to help him in the Games.

"No. I'm not a coward," he says, clearly offended by the suggestion. "I can see you've already picked Katniss as the District 12 victor. I agree with you. And I want to help. But it won't help either one of us if we team up and she's hoping someone kills me off the whole time. Our heads need to be in the Game."

True enough. "So what's your plan then?" I sneer. I'm wondering why he's offering himself up as a sacrificial lamb for slaughter. So he likes the girl. A little crush is hardly a reason to throw your whole life away. I can't argue with his point that I've already put my faith behind Katniss, but he's definitely a close second on the list of tributes that I want to win.

"I want to team up with the Careers."

I'm filled with revulsion at the thought. Then again, the saying 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer' has a ring of truth to it. "Great, kid," I say with a heavy dollop of sarcasm. "But there's the _slight_ problem that we've been giving the whole of Panem the idea that you're going in to this as a team. Running around with the Careers is a little anti-team, don't you think?"

"I have a plan."

_Wonderful,_ I think to myself, reaching for my wineglass as he says those four words. I can already tell that this is going to be a long night.

[I can't help myself. I love it when Effie and Haymitch fight, and since it's my birthday I figured I should self-indulge a little]


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks for the B-day wishes/reviews! You might be wondering why this next chapter took so long... I was sick. As in, sick enough to be physically unable to write. Plus this chapter is really damn long. Please don't hate me?

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins.**

At breakfast the next morning, Peeta, Effie and I are up and ready to go early. Peeta and I let Effie in on our plan to make him and Katniss a team without actually having them play the Games together. I don't want to let her know, but Peeta says that since she essentially plays the part of female mentor for our District that he wouldn't want to leave her out of the scheming. I think she can't keep a secret to save her life, but we'll see. It'll only be a secret from Katniss for 24 hours, since the televised interviews are tomorrow.

When Katniss comes in, we're still huddled around the table, talking in hushed voices about how it is all going to work. Peeta's tilt of the head is what makes us realize that she's in the room, and we all sit back and stop talking while she piles her plate with food.

We all concentrate on eating for a few minutes, before Katniss decides to be sociable. "So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?"

_Showtime Haymitch_, I think to myself, slowly chewing and swallowing before I answer her. "That's right."

"You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and eat at the same time."

I say my next words carefully, considering each one before I say it, judging the effect it's having on Katniss. "Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach."

She looks at me quizzically. "What's that?"

I shrug and decide to say it as lightly as possible, "Peeta has asked to be coached separately." I watch her face closely, trying to gage her reaction. There's a second of hurt before she can put on a mask of indifference.

"Good," she says, her voice a little strained despite her face's lack of interest. "So, what's the schedule?"

That morning, while Effie is spending 4 hours teaching Katniss how to walk in a pair of high heels and smile for the cameras, Peeta and I plot how he's going to handle his interview. At some point he has to tell the whole of Panem that he likes her. I don't know if Katniss likes him back. I don't rightly care. The whole point of this is to make her seem desirable. As a girl who likes to keep to herself, we all suspect she might have a little trouble with this interview. She's not really outgoing enough, so Peeta's job is to give her a boost in the eyes of the public.

I'm feeling pretty confident with the plan leading into the afternoon. I think it might work, as long as Effie can keep her mouth shut while she's with Katniss. At lunch she looks a little annoyed with Katniss, and I'm guessing that the high-heel lessons didn't go that well. I chuckle privately to myself at Effie's dark expression.

When I sit down with Katniss to figure out what her angle is going to be, I spend a couple minutes staring at her. I really don't know what to do with her. I tell her as much. She has shown herself to be a model tribute by stepping in for her sister, getting a high grade in training, and looking radiant in her fire costume, but in the Capitol your words are just as important as your actions. I warn her that a winning interview can make sponsors like you, while a mediocre one can make you easy to forget. Her job is to delight the audience, regardless of how much she despises them for taking pleasure in watching children slaughter each other on a yearly basis.

We try every approach I can think of. Aloof. Dangerous. Eccentric. Innocent. Charming. I ask questions, and she tries to act the way we've decided to play it. She fails miserably at every one, and I'm quickly losing patience. My hand is drawing closer and closer to my flask with every failed attempt.

Eventually she's somehow morphed from charming to hostile, and her face is contorted in loathing as she spits answers at me through clenched teeth. Not exactly the way for a radiant young girl to capture the hearts of the audience. She needs to tell them about herself. When I point this out she says she doesn't want the audience to know about her.

"Then lie!" I shout, closing my eyes and squeezing the sides of my nose in frustration. "Make something up!" I'm starting to wish that Effie was stuck with this sullen teenage girl all day. I can't deal with this.

"I'm not good at lying," she complains.

I've had it. This is ridiculous. "Well, you better learn fast. You've got about as much charm as a dead slug," I say. I let my mouth run away with me, and for all her toughness, Katniss looks genuinely hurt. It was true, but maybe I shouldn't have said it. I make an attempt to be nicer.

I tell her to try humble. Cocky. Witty. Funny. Sexy. Mysterious. I start drinking around witty, and by the end of the session I'm very drunk, very surly, and we have nothing to show for it. "I give up sweetheart. Just answer the questions and try not to let the audience see how openly you despise them." It's really the only idea I have left and if she can't manage that, maybe I _will_ have to back Peeta in these Games. If she can't be somewhat endearing to the audience then Peeta's plan to make her look desirable will not work.

Too soon, the next night is upon us and my tributes' faces are about to be broadcast across the nation. Both tributes look fantastic, courtesy of their stylists, but right as they're about to go on stage I notice the strict no-contact distance between my tributes. "Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it."

The blue-haired Caesar Flickerman interviews each tribute. You only get a few minutes to make an impression. I went for cocky and arrogant back when I was a tribute. It worked well, and according to my then-mentor my answers to Caesar's questions got me quite a few sponsors. I've never seen hostile and sullen get anyone sponsors unless they were nearly 7 feet tall and 250 pounds. Lithe little Katniss doesn't stand a chance with that approach.

I'm zoned out while the other tributes do their interviews. I don't want to know anything about them. It's much easier to mentor my tributes when I think of the kids from the other Districts as faceless killing machines not worthy of a second glance.

Then Katniss is being called to the stage, and I cover my eyes with one of my hands and clench my other into a fist. I can't look. "So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District 12. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?" Caesar asks.

It takes her a minute before she blurts "the lamb stew."

I hear a smattering of laughter and look over my hand cautiously. More laughter is heard as they discuss the lamb stew, and as she talks about how she had to get over the fear of being burned alive by her costume at the opening ceremonies.

She's complementary to Cinna for his designs. She gushes. She twirls for the audience. She says she's too dizzy to spin any more, and Caesar holds on to her as he says "Don't worry, I've got you. Can't have you following in your mentor's footsteps." I wink at the cameras as they search for me and then wave them away and back to my shining tribute.

Here I was expecting a complete train wreck, and she's actually not half-bad. Not amazing. Not unforgettable. But not bad. As the conversation drifts to the moment when she stepped in for her sister at the reaping, you can hear a pin drop in the crowd. She has their full attention, and you can almost feel the goose bumps in the crowd as she quietly says she swore to her little sister that she would win.

Before I know it her turn is over. I breathe a little easier until I realize that I have one tribute left. I wasn't worried about Peeta before, but it seems like I'm living in opposite land so I've decided to be cautiously optimistic. This is going way too well, so there must be a hitch.

Halfway through his interview I don't know what I was worried about. Hell, the kid's a natural. He neatly leads Caesar to his life in District 12, which, for a strapping young lad like himself, obviously leads to questions about the girls in his life.

"Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." You could hear an audible sympathetic 'aww' from the audience.

"She have another fellow?"

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her."

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

"I don't think that's going to work. Winning... won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?"

"Because..." Peeta blushes, "Because she came here with me."

Katniss reacts beautifully when the cameras turn on her. She has that moment of confusion as the gears in her head turn, and when she realizes Peeta is talking about her, she blushes innocently. Apparently Effie managed to keep her big Capitol mouth shut yesterday while she was training her. Peeta and Caesar discuss what an absolute shame it is. The audience agrees, and they vocally mourn the tragedy of the star-crossed lovers of District 12, who will never live happily ever after. The audience are left wanting more of District 12, which is really the best we could hope for.

When I get onto the elevator with Cinna, Portia, and Effie, I'm quite pleased with how the night has gone. We collectively reflect on what a boost our tributes have going into the Games. Effie swears she'll gut me with her high heels if I don't sit down tomorrow morning to look over her comprehensive list of sponsors, adding on a false giggle at the end so Portia and Cinna don't take her seriously, but flashing me a quick look that says she's 100% serious.

"I think we can safely say that went pretty-"

The doors open and we feast eyes on a blood-covered Peeta on the floor, "-well."

I think I spoke too soon. "What's going on? Did you fall?" Effie asks Peeta, rushing over to pull him up with the help of Cinna.

"After she shoved me," Peeta says sullenly, looking at Katniss.

I turn to her, wondering what the hell would possess her to do that. "Shoved him?" I ask, confused.

"That was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" Katniss practically yells at me. I open my mouth to argue with her and tell her she doesn't need my help to look like some kind of fool, but Peeta beats me to it.

"It was my idea. Haymitch just helped me with it."

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she says to Peeta. The complete lack of truth in what she says hits a nerve. Everything we've done is for Katniss's sake. In fact, if she wasn't so blind, she'd see clearly that we are setting her up to win this thing.

The alcohol I had to give me the courage to sit through the interviews makes it impossible for me to hold in my annoyance at this stupid, silly girl. "You _are_ a fool. Do you think he hurt you? The boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."

"He made me look weak!"

"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!"

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" She spits.

I can't physically restrain myself any longer. I grab her by the shoulders and push her against the wall, holding her there. I've lost all physical control, to the point where I can't help but manhandle my tribute. I'm desperate for her to understand these Games before she's in the arena, fighting for her life. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's about how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get more sponsors?"

This Game isn't about reality. It's about creating the reality that the audience wants to see. The reality that you create for them, to keep them interested. A tragic love story is just what the Capitol wants to see. The longer you give it to them, the longer you'll live. Sponsors are nearly always synonymous with survival. You give the sponsors what they want, and they'll give you what you need.

She pushes me away, and I stumble back, off-balance. Cinna, the ever-respectable stylist, comes to the rescue and puts a comforting arm around her shoulder. I don't really understand why, but I'm struck with envy to see this. This perfect relationship. I'll never be half the mentor that Cinna is to her. I'm just a useless drunk to her. "He's right, Katniss," Cinna says.

"I should have been told so I didn't look so stupid," she says.

The others talk her down, and tell her that she acted perfectly. Naturally, even.

"You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," I say, trying to be reassuring despite my annoyance with her and my jealousy of Cinna. What I say doesn't matter. She won't hear it unless someone else is confirming it.

The tributes make up with one another, and we go to dinner. Peeta is physically injured, but the relationship between my tributes seems to be as amiable as ever. The poor kid is going into the arena with an injury, but I think he's smart enough to get by. For awhile. He has a way with words that makes me think he could convince the Careers to take him in.

After watching the recap of the interviews, it's time for the tributes to go to bed. If they can sleep. I hope they can, since this is the last possibility of a good night's sleep for a long time. In fact, I'm pretty confident this is the last night I'm going to sleep until the Games are over or both of my tributes are dead. Whichever comes first.

Effie, Cinna, and Portia say goodbye to my tributes, and I'm left alone with them.

I cross my arms and look at my tributes, sobered by the thought of where they will be tomorrow morning. "Any final words of advice?" Peeta asks. I'm struck with emotion when I think that this is the last time that I'm going to see both these kids together. Only one is coming back if I can manage it. The other one... well...I take a silent moment to myself before I can answer his question, but my voice is strained regardless.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Got it?"

Tributes can go without food for a pretty long time, but without water they could be dead in days. I've watched enough kids die to know that this is a distinct possibility, and I have my fingers crossed that water is readily available.

"And after that?" Katniss asks, voice hushed.

"Stay alive," I say, gravely. It's the best advice I can give them, and this time I say it without laughing. They nod and head off to bed.

When they leave I'm left staring at the wall, knowing that sleep won't come as easily as I'd like.

Let the Games begin.


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you so much for reviewing! It makes my day, it really does!

Now, behind the scenes of the Hunger Games. There;s **CF Spoilers** because there are characters from CF. You've been warned!

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins.**

Games Headquarters.

Better known by those of us who spend large amounts of time inside as purgatory.

Nausea fills me as I seat myself in the plush leather chair in the room that will be my home for the next couple weeks. I look at the multitude of screens in front of me, where I will have a view of the Games that most Capitol viewers would die for. Unlike the general public, I will know where all tributes are at all times. My view of the Games depends on the screen that I'm looking at, not on the view that the Capitol decides is the most exciting. Thirty screens to watch in unison. Thirty screens from which to view bloody deaths in minute detail.

All mentors are in similar rooms to this, only all of them have another mentor to watch the Games so they can get some sleep on the bed in the corner. I have Effie. Doubtless she'll wake me if anything important is going on, but I don't really want to trust that. Seems to me that she might be a little more interested in doing her nails than watching my tributes trudge through the same old landscape for hours on end. She wouldn't consider that they might be ambushed and killed faster than she could blink. Besides, I need her to be outside, signing up sponsors for my tributes. Considering the comprehensive list I was given this morning with names and amounts, my tributes should be pretty well off if they need it.

There's a camera behind me, red light already running. Watching me. I turn around to look at it, before turning back to my blank screens. They have it there on the pretence of showing the Capitol audience that the mentors are hard at work, keeping their favourite tributes alive. We all know, though, that the cameras are there to watch the mentors and make sure they aren't plotting world domination when they should be overseeing the deaths of their District's children. Fair enough, since mentors do have the tendency to talk to one another while we're all cramped in this hellhole.

An arm wraps around my neck and I grab the offending person around their neck with my hands. I hear strangled laughter and loosen my grip, and the arm around my neck falls away. I turn around in my chair to see Chaff grinning at me. I should have known, seeing as an arm ending in a stump could really only belong to one person. "Happy Hunger Games Haymitch!" Chaff guffaws, grabbing me around the neck roughly with his handless arm, and giving me a noogie with the other. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!"

Despite my crappy mood and sleep-deprived state, I can't help but give a little grin back as I rub the painful spot of my head. He winks at me, turns to the camera screwed into the ceiling, and climbs up the desk that encapsulates the entire perimeter of the room. Grabbing the camera he gives it a big, wet kiss, before jumping off the table with a resounding crash. "Give my love to Seneca!" He yells at the camera, before turning back to regard me with crossed arms. A half-minute later a Peacekeeper comes into the room armed with a bottle of camera cleaner, and proceeds to clean the slobber off, looking accusingly at Chaff the entire time. I guess his saliva distorted the view.

"They're getting slow," Chaff comments happily. Dropping himself into the seat beside me, he uses his feet to propel himself in little circles. "A couple years ago they would've been here within 10 seconds."

"I'm sure they've got tranquilizer darts hidden in the walls to take us out if we start getting too friendly," I reply wryly.

"So," Chaff starts, abruptly stopping his spinning, "you've got quite the pair this year."

He's obviously referring to my tributes, and I stare meaningfully at the camera. "Yep. Quite the romance they've got, my star-crossed lovers. Shame only one of them is going to win."

"Well," Chaff says, looking straight at the camera for a moment too, to play it up for the Capitol audience and pretend that they're in on the conversation, before looking back at me, "I think it's safe to say Rue and Thresh are forces to be reckoned with. So don't be polishing that trophy case _quite_ yet. That'll just lead to disappointment when District 11 wins."

"We'll see," I retort, pushing his chair playfully across the room with my foot.

I'm guessing that this little exchange is going to be broadcasted later on. Friendly competition between mentors is always a nice way to start the show. Occasionally a fist fight breaks out between Career mentors from different Districts. Any publicity is good publicity, really.

"So, who's mentoring this year?" I ask. Knowing the competition is important, because it gives you an idea of the training that the other tributes have gotten. I don't generally pay attention to who the other mentors are until I'm here in the Headquarters. When you have those few days with your tributes, training them how to be tributes is pretty much at the forefront of your mind, unless you happen to be Chaff and have the ability to focus on everything at once. Chaff sat beside me during the interviews, and I remember seeing Finnick, but the rest of the time outside this building is a blur.

"No newbies," Chaff shrugs, continuing to spin in circles. "I've got Gladdie with me. She got picked, I volunteered, as always. I can't let you have all the fun without me. Cashmere and Gloss both got picked at the District 1 drawing this year. I think Cashmere got picked and Gloss volunteered to keep her company. Brutus and Enobaria from 2. Beetee and Cameress from 3 both volunteered. Ol' Finnick and Alyssa from 4... I'm gonna miss Mags this year, she's always good for a laugh...Johanna and Blight from 7... well...basically, they've all mentored before. Same old, same old."

Each District has a different way of selecting female and male mentors. In the bigger Districts, like 1 and 2, they're drawn the same way as tributes. In others, it's done on a rotational basis. Sometimes they ask for volunteers before they draw names. In 12, I'm all there is, so I'm stuck here regardless. At least I have Chaff with me. He makes this whole thing a little more bearable when he's here. He's volunteered every year since we both mentored the 51st Hunger Games. Most of the time we get drunk, spout nasty things about the Capitol and President Snow, and helplessly watch the screens as our generally mediocre tributes get slaughtered.

Good times.

"My ears are burning," Finnick complains, sauntering into the room after hearing his name in the hallway. Nine years later, he still looks the part of a model tribute, if a little too old. When he walks into a room women still faint at the sight of him. But Chaff and I aren't women, so his little saunter causes nothing but eye-rolling.

"Here," I say, reaching under the desk and pulling out a bottle of Capitol wine, "That'll put out the fire." I chuck it at him and he catches it, one-handed. Always the show off. He pops the cap off and takes a swig.

"So, how're the tributes?" Chaff asks conversationally as Finnick passes the bottle to him.

"I give 'em three days," Finnick answers, shrugging noncommittally and leaning against the desk. "They're not prime District 4 material, but who knows? With people like Johanna out there, it's hard to tell what these kids are hiding nowadays."

We mentors have gotten really good at hiding our feelings and insecurities below the surface. Cold-hearted though it might seem, life is a lot easier for us when we don't think too much about the kids in the Games. If we pretend that it really is a game, and in reality everyone lives happily ever after.

I take the bottle as it passes my way. I intend to stay mostly sober, but a little drink won't hurt. We're silent for awhile, glancing occasionally at the Capitol camera while we pass the bottle around. No doubt they've got Peacekeepers standing nearby and focused on the TV screen hooked up to this camera, now that three of us are together in one room. Making sure that no notes are being passed between mentors, and nothing incriminating is said. We're free to go anywhere in the Game Headquarters, but Peacekeepers are everywhere. It's common for mentors with tributes who are working together to stay in the same room until the partnership turns sour, but the whole time you're with anyone you're watched like a hawk. I suspect that Chaff and I have gotten away with badmouthing the Capitol all these years because they've realized by now that we're both too cowardly to actually _do_ anything. Drunken ranting doesn't really lead to action.

I'm going to try and be civil this year. I don't want to make the Gamemakers feel the need to get to me through my tributes. Not when I've gone to all the trouble to learn their names and teach them what I know.

"Good morning!" Effie says brightly, entering the room lugging a heavy suitcase full of what I imagine to be the entire contents of a makeup factory.

"Let me help you with that," Finnick says with a winning smile, taking the bag effortlessly from Effie's hands before carefully stowing it in a corner. He gives Effie a hug, which she returns enthusiastically. I don't really know why, but this annoys me. Maybe it's just because I find them both to be unbearably aggravating, and having the two of them together is overkill.

I take another swig from the bottle, and a Peacekeeper enters the room to inform us that the Games are about to begin. In other words, he wanted us all in our respective rooms, at least for the start of the Games. I assume Finnick is off to sit with the mentors from Districts 1 and 2. Careers stick together. Maybe if Peeta manages to get in with them, I'll be stuck in a room with them. Finnick blows Effie a kiss, winks, and walks out the door with a stride that makes Miss. Trinket sigh. Chaff follows close behind after saying a quick "see you later".

I'm left with Effie, but I don't have enough time to consider how annoying this is going to be before my screens come on. 24 of the screens show footage of the tributes, while the rest are focused on random Capitol commentators, talking about the tributes that the Capitol has lined up this year. Each tribute is in a separate Launch Room, with a stylist doing final touch-ups on makeup and clothing. I grab the remote and turn the volume up as high as it will go on Katniss's screen.

"Remember what Haymitch said," Cinna tells her. "Run, find water. The rest will follow." He visibly squeezes her hand before he says, "and remember this. I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you."

"Truly?" she whispers to him.

"Truly," Cinna confirms, leaning over to kiss her on the head. "Good luck, girl on fire."

Any jealously I felt yesterday flees as I watch this heartfelt exchange. Maybe it's just because I'm on the verge of sobriety today, but I'm glad that he's there for her. In a matter of minutes, this kid is facing a very probable death, so it seems stupid of me to be jealous. I can't be the comforting figure she needs, but Cinna's a naturally reassuring individual.

The glass cylinder lowers around Katniss, and I search for Peeta's screen to see Portia give him a sad smile and a wave. I move my chair as close to the back of the room as possible, because I want to be able to watch all the screens at once when my tributes enter the fray.

"Isn't this _exciting_?" Effie squeals in a way comparable to nails scratching down a chalkboard.

"_Riveting_," I answer with a rich coating of sarcasm, taking a long, hard gulp from the wine bottle. I set it on the floor and ignore Effie's scathing expression. She might be able to go through this without a drink, but the rest of us don't have it so easy.

Claudius Templesmith's voice rings out, and a chill goes through me as he says as he does every year "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

I sit forward in my chair, tense.

Willing my tributes to survive.


	11. Chapter 11

Yeah, I know, cliff hangers are mean. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm totally not ;p...**CF SPOILERS** since there's characters from CF, references to Haymitch's past, etc. etc.

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins.**

Sixty seconds. That's how long a tribute has to stand on their metal circle before the sound of the gong signals the start. It gives them a chance to stand there and take it all in: The arena, the Cornucopia, the other tributes. If you stand off before the minute is up, you get blown up by the surrounding landmines. I've seen it happen before. My third year as a mentor, one of the tributes from District 12 completely lost her head, probably forgetting that they were there, and stepped off to run towards the supplies. Needless to say she didn't last very long.

Everything you could possibly want is stacked in and around the Cornucopia, from food to weapons. I told my tributes to get out of there because they're more likely to live if they go for the "run and hide" approach. I know I didn't follow my own advice back when I was a tribute, but I figured I was dead if I _didn't_ run into the fray. Besides, there were 47 other tributes, and I figured that as a kid from District 12, I was pretty low down on the list of people worth killing. But I didn't get an 11 in training, either.

I examine my tributes faces as they take it all in. Peeta looks determinedly at the other tributes, and I'm guessing he's thinking of the best way to get in with the Careers. Katniss looks to the lake and to the woods, before resting her eyes longingly on the Cornucopia. Like she wants to run toward it. She positions her feet toward the Cornucopia, not away from it. _No. No no no no. Don't do it sweetheart_, I think to myself, cringing away from the screen. I can't stop looking at her though, willing her to change her mind.

I feel sick as the gong rings out and the tributes are free to run. Katniss seems to have second-thought running into the deathtrap, and in those few critical seconds, she's lost her chance to get to the center without being entirely suicidal. My hands clench against the armrests while I watch her sprint forward anyway, grabbing a loaf of bread and a piece of plastic, before sprinting further to launch herself at a bright orange backpack. The boy from District 9 reaches it at the same time she does, and they both spend vital time fighting over it. I wish she would drop it and get out of there.

The boy takes a knife to the back, spattering my tribute with blood. She stumbles backwards with the pack in her hands. _Run_, I moan internally. _You have your damn backpack; now get the hell out of there_. The girl, Clove, from District 2, is aiming for my tribute with her knives. I hold my breath as Katniss turns tail and runs for the woods. She's fast, but there's not a chance she'll be fast enough to evade the flying knife. I close my eyes tightly and Effie lets out a startled "Oh!"

I have the volume on Katniss's screen still turned up full blast, so I hear the heavy thud of the knife that signals that it's hit its target. I open my eyes, fearing the worst, preparing to see my tribute lying on the ground with blood streaming out of her in torrents. Instead she's still running toward the woods, and the knife is lodged securely in the fluorescent orange pack. I breathe a sigh of relief and turn to Peeta's screen. She should be safe for now if she can keep up the pace. No one is going to follow her into the woods with the intention of killing her.

Peeta's standing near the edge of the Cornucopia, a shield raised as the boy from District 2 rounds on him with a spear. He's talking but I can't hear what he's saying. It takes me a minute to realize that I still have the volume way up on Katniss's screen, and the volume muted on his. I scramble with the remote for a minute before I can find the volume button. Effie tells me to hurry up, because she's missing the good part, and I'm about to tell her where to go when sound blasts out of the speakers, full volume.

"...could work together, Cato," Peeta says. He doesn't sound scared, he sounds confident, if a little winded by the dodging. In some ways Careers are like animals when they're in the arena. They can smell your fear. Hiding that fear is the first step to successfully arranging a truce.

"Oh yeah? And why would I want to do that?" Cato jeers, lunging again with his spear. Effie squeals next to me, and I clench my teeth as the sound echoes painfully in my ears. Normally I would ignore her, but considering the time and effort I've invested into these Games, I can't afford to be distracted.

"Effie dear, I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully. _Shut-the-hell-up-or-get-the-hell-out_," I snarl, never taking my eyes off of the screen. I don't look to see if she's gone, but I don't hear any exclamatory noises escaping from her for the next few minutes.

Besides the bodies of the dead tributes littering the ground, the only remaining tributes are the kids from Districts 1 and 2, the surviving boy from 3 and girl from 4, and Peeta. The kid from 3 is hard at work digging up the ground, while the kids from 1 are watching his back. I might wonder what he's up to if I wasn't questioning Peeta's sanity for trying to team up with the Careers.

"Katniss," Peeta says, lunging to the side as Cato stabs at him again. Cato stops for a minute, sizing Peeta up. Probably considering the pros and cons of having him as an ally. Pro: Katniss might think Peeta likes her, so he might be able to lull her into a false sense of security. Con: Peeta might actually like Katniss, and is trying to protect her. Con: Peeta might kill him in his sleep. Pro: he has 6 other allies, some of whom would probably be watching his back if Peeta decided to take advantage of the truce to kill him.

"You can't ignore someone who got an 11 in training," Peeta says, panting heavily behind his shield.

"How do I know you're not just protecting her, _Loverboy_?" Cato sneers, his spear slightly lowered in spite of his bravado.

"Protect someone? In the Games?" Peeta asks incredulously, raising his eyebrows like that's the most absurd thing he's ever heard. I can't fault this kid, he sure can act. He didn't even have to lie; he just had to echo what any tribute would think. No one in their right mind would sacrifice their life to protect someone in these Games. At least, that's the Career mentality. Better someone else die than you.

Until you get home and have to deal with the guilt, anyway.

"Let him live, Cato," Clove says commandingly, striding over to take part in the deliberations. "Even if he _is_ planning to kill us all and team up with his One True Love, there's still 6 of us and 2 of them. He doesn't stand a chance. Besides, maybe we can learn something useful from him."

Cato is convinced to lower his spear, keeping a cautious eye on Peeta. Peeta lowers his shield, and the two tributes shake hands with a little more force than is strictly necessary, eyes glued to one another in case someone makes a sudden move. Allies. For now.

I sit back in my chair, relieved. My tributes, both of them, have survived the bloodbath of the first day. For the next few hours, the Careers will be organizing supplies, and the tributes with any sense at all will be getting as much distance between themselves and the Careers as possible. I look to my side and realize that Effie is missing, and turn back to the screen to see Katniss still running through the forest and Peeta organizing supplies. I'm just about to consider relaxing when Finnick pops his head in the door again, looking a little amused.

"So you're a Career this year," Finnick comments, sounding a little surprised. "Congrats."

"Yeah," I reply darkly. Grabbing my half-empty bottle, I take another swig. "There's a first time for everything."

"Well, considering the long-standing tradition we've got going, I've just dragged Beetee and Cameress into the District 1 room. You're the only one left."

I snort. It's like they have their own private little club, the Career mentors. Occasionally, one of us from the lesser Districts merits an invite. I'd like to tell them to shove it, but I guess it's in my best interest to know what's going on in the Career camp. "Well, any good party needs some wine," I say, grabbing a couple of bottles with one hand and following Finnick into the District 1 room, wheeling my chair along behind me.

There's about 10 Peacekeepers stationed outside the door, and two in the room on either side of the door. Apparently having 9 mentors in one room is a little unsettling for them. I don't think they have to worry. Districts 1 and 2 are safely in the Capitol's hand. They'll probably dutifully warn President Snow himself if one of us is whispering about a rebellion.

Inside the room, there's a celebratory atmosphere. It_ is_ like a goddamned party. They've got popcorn and everything. Beetee and Cameress, like me, look utterly out of place here, sitting quietly in the corner as the other mentors loudly comment on the superb opening to these Games.

Not one for the crowds, I wheel my chair over beside Beetee. He nods to acknowledge that I'm there, and for a few minutes we sit in uncomfortable silence. Then I think about his tribute, digging up the ground, and I can't help but ask "why all the digging?"

"See that wire?" Beetee asks, indicating with a wave of his hand that I should look at the screen.

Around the Cornucopia, the tribute from District 3 has dug up a bunch of wires and metal plates that were once active landmines, and is now carefully inspecting them, expertly cutting small bits of wire with the help of another tribute, and wrapping different pieces together. The District 4 tribute is busily digging up spots in the ground to shove the round metal plates that the other kid is giving to her. "Yeah."

"Well," Beetee says, sounding oddly like a teacher about to launch into what he assumes is a fascinating lecture, "He's reactivating the devices, to provide a deterrent to other tributes should they run low on supplies and feel the need to go scavenging at the Cornucopia."

"Reacting the...what?" I think about it for a minute before it strikes me. "Wait, you don't mean those mines are..." I sit there with my mouth hanging open.

"...Going to go 'boom'?" Finnick finishes for me with a flourish of his hands, using his feet to propel his seat over to us three wallflowers in the corner.

"Precisely," Beetee answers. "The resulting explosive force will incapacitate any tribute who should happen to get close, while leaving the supplies unharmed. Providing, of course, that just the one mine is set off. If a chain reaction were to occur..." Beetee thinks about it for a moment, "well, that's highly unlikely. They're set off by weight, so unless the remaining tributes run on to the mines together in some odd display of suicidal tendencies, or decide to throw some rather large stones in quick succession, that shouldn't be a problem."

District 3. Electronics. The District 1 and 2 mentors are smirking to themselves. This is definitely a first in the Games. This kid must've worked on the landmines in 3, or maybe one of his mentors suggested the idea. I'd be annoyed if I wasn't so impressed. District 12 really does get the crap end of the stick, as far as useful skills go.

"Eleven down, Thirteen to go," Enobaria grins, showing her sharp, gold-tipped teeth to the rest of us while she looks at the list she's written. "Districts 6, 7, and 9 are all out of the running. Districts 3, 4, 5, 8, and 10 are all one tribute poorer. Not a bad days work, if I do say so myself."

I'm paying particular attention to the fact that she didn't mention 11. That must mean Chaff's tributes have made it over the first hurdle of the Games, and I want to go congratulate him on his success. It's been awhile since both of our Districts have escaped the Cornucopia intact. Finnick flashes me a questioning glance as I get up, and I mutter a quick "be right back".

The Peacekeepers all perk up at my quiet words, watching me closely while I cross the room and exit the door. They sure are nervous this year, which makes me wonder what District is currently experiencing some social unrest. Every few years a District gets fed up with government control, but since we can never coordinate a simultaneous rebellion it's pretty much useless. In spite of that it makes the government nervous, and the mentors are closely watched to make sure we aren't spreading the word that something other than sunshine and lollipops is rampant in our Districts.

I walk almost to the end of the hall to get to Chaff's room, with a big '11' plastered on the door. I can hear his voice but I can't make out what he's saying. In any case he's enthusiastically discussing _something _with who I can only guess is his mentor counterpart. He's choking back laughter as I walk in the door, tears streaming down his face from the pressure of holding it in.

"Wha-" I start to say, starting to grin at what I'm sure is going to be revealed as some hilarious joke. Chaff, apparently physically unable to speak, points at a screen and I look. I blink. The girl from his District is currently swinging. Between the trees. Chaff bursts out laughing when he sees the deadpan look on my face, hitting the armrest of his chair with his arm, gasping for breath while the tears pour freely down his face. Gladdie joins in, though more muted and politely.

"That's not a tribute, that's a bloody _monkey_!" I exclaim over the noise, laughing in spite of myself.

It takes Chaff a minute to collect himself. Every time he opens his mouth to talk he starts laughing again. Finally, his voice still strained with the effort of keeping back the laughter, he says, "this is the first time I've ever gotten a kid from the orchards in an arena with a forest." He closes his mouth and clenches his teeth, determined not to laugh anymore.

"And they can all do _that_?" I ask, nodding toward the screen.

"Only the little ones, like Rue," Gladdie pipes in, smiling proudly at her tribute's unique talent.

I whistle low, before looking for Thresh's screen. "What's the big one up to?" I ask. He appears to have decided against the forested area of the arena.

"He's from the fields, so I guess he's more likely to survive out there," Gladdie says. "He knows what's edible."

"Well Chaff," I say, giving him a clap on the back, "it seems like we've both hit the lottery this year."

"So it seems," he says, the grin on his face now seeming a little lacklustre. We don't say it out loud, but it goes unspoken as we watch our tributes on the screens. Only one District can win the Games.

Secretly, we both hope it's our own.


	12. Chapter 12

Yeah, it's been awhile. I've been reading the German version of THG, and it's as good as the English one, so it was hard to put it down. Sorry! Thanks for the reviews!

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins.**

I spend the next few hours in the District 1 room watching Katniss run through the woods and watching Peeta help the Careers organize supplies and hunt tributes. All things considered, the opening day of the Games has gone better than I could have anticipated. Peeta's relatively safe in the lion's den, and Katniss has a weapon courtesy of Clove from District 2. It's no bow and arrow, but at least it's something. All she needs now is a source of water and she's golden.

The screen in the center of the wall of screens is the biggest, and it's the one that I'm paying the most attention to. It's a map of the arena filled with blinking pictures to indicate where certain tributes are, and symbols to indicate where water can be found. From the look on her face earlier, she isn't happy about the lack of liquid in the pack that she risked her life for back at the Cornucopia. According to the map that I'm staring at, though, she's heading in the right direction. It's hard to be optimistic when you're thirsty but I hope she can ignore it long enough to get to the water.

I look at the blinking pictures closest to Katniss'. The female from District 8 is a little closer to her than I'd like, but I don't think she's a threat to my tribute. Looking at her screen I can see she's scared and unsure of what she's doing. Easy prey, not a predator. She's more likely to flee from Katniss than attack her if they happen across one another. Besides, my tribute is armed with a knife, and she's not.

As the sunlight begins to set, Katniss sets a few snares before climbing up a tree to spend the night. She's a resourceful kid. She even belts herself into her sleeping bag so she doesn't plummet to the ground below. I look at the middle screen to see who's close to Katniss, before glancing at the screens of the particular tributes. The Careers are on the prowl. Rue is in a tree too, a good mile ahead of Katniss. The girl from 8 is closer to Katniss than she was before, but she's on the ground. Still not a threat.

The anthem blares, and all tributes stop what they're doing to look at the sky. The faces of the eleven dead flash across the coming starry night. Eleven dead kids who're going home to their families in wooden boxes. Whatever pieces are left of them. When I was a tribute, seeing the faces flash across the sky made it harder to sleep in the arena than it already was for me at the time. It is a reminder for every tribute of how close you are to death. Unless you're a Career, and then it's high fives all round.

I gaze absentmindedly at Peeta's screen, where the Careers have stopped searching in order to congratulate one another on a successful hard days' work. After a quick round of cheering, they start walking again, looking for signs of any of the other tributes. It looks like they're going to spend the night hunting, which worries me in spite of the fact that Katniss is safely lodged in a tree, and in the dark there's no possible way they're going to accidentally stumble across her.

"Idiot," Brutus snorts, interrupting my thoughts.

Confused, I follow his gaze to the screen for the girl from 8. I haven't been paying very much attention to her since I'd decided that she isn't a physical threat to my tribute. "What going on?" Gloss asks, yawning widely and stretching his arms. He must've dozed off in his chair.

"Eight is lighting a fire," Finnick answers, bored, while he plays solitaire on the desk.

"Twelve down," Enobaria says sleepily, her eyes never opening. "Twelve left to play."

Well she isn't wrong. The Careers have been hunting through the woods for hours. Soon enough they catch sight of the fire, and all the trudging pays off. They bound toward the light with unbridled glee. The girl pleads for her life, screaming in agony as the boy from 2, Cato, sticks a spear into her chest several times. I glance at Peeta, who's trying to hide his distaste for the task behind a faraway stare.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato says on the screen, maliciously grinning. They start to move. My eyes flicker to the center screen, holding my breath as the blinking pictures show they're on a collision course with Katniss.

"Don't look up, don't look up, don't look up," I mutter over and over, staring hard between the center screen and Katniss's screen as they draw closer to my tree-bound tribute.

"Should we send a parachute to make them look up?" Enobaria asks no one in particular, amused by my mantra. She might've been asleep before, but now her eyes are wickedly gleaming. "Send them a hunk of bread or something?"

Finnick, who is still playing cards, stops for a minute and frowns at Enobaria. "They'll get to her eventually. No need to waste perfectly good sponsorship money on food they don't even need. Or break up a perfectly good alliance."

The room at large is now staring at Enobaria, waiting for her to say something. Killing Katniss might help them out in the short term, but one of the main reasons the Careers are working together right now is because of her. If they take out the girl with the 11 in training, there might not be as much incentive to stay allies, and they could conceivably kill one another off, leaving room for another tribute to win. Often the Career mentor mentality is that a Career kid should win, regardless of which one. All the better to show their supremacy over the lesser Districts and take their rightful place as Capitol lapdogs. "Fine," Enobaria says, waving her hand dismissively and closing her eyes again.

The Careers are almost close enough to Katniss to spit on her tree when they stop moving and start to argue. They haven't heard a cannon yet, which can really only mean one thing: the girl they've just butchered isn't dead yet.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" Peeta shouts above the noise. This declaration stops the other tributes bickering, and they all look at him with wide eyes and open mouths. Several people in the room surrounding me look up at Peeta and then at me, a little shocked. It's a widely-held belief that Peeta's a soft-hearted little kid, but this statement is incongruous with that.

"Go on then, Lover Boy. See for yourself," Cato snaps, waving dismissively in the direction they've just come, and Peeta turns around and walks off. As soon as he's out of earshot, they start to argue amongst themselves again, but this time Peeta is the subject under discussion.

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" Cato asks, kicking a nearby stone in frustration. Obviously he's taken Peeta's insistence to go back as a personal affront to his killing skills.

"Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife. Besides, he's our best chance of finding her," Glimmer says. Peeta's skill with a knife is news to me. I must've missed it while I was focused on Katniss. Maybe before he'd been fending Cato off with a shield this morning, he'd been taking the offense with a knife. I feel a flash of guilt for ignoring half of my team and squirm uneasily in my chair.

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" Marvel asks sceptically.

"She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke," Glimmer says, spinning around mockingly with a naive expression plastered to her face. Obviously jealous.

"Wish we knew how she got that eleven," Clove mutters unhappily, stroking the knife that she's holding in her hands lovingly.

"Bet you Lover Boy knows," Cato sneers, jabbing a hand in Peeta's direction over his shoulder.

Peeta returns, stomping heavily through the woods. If the kid had it in him to be quiet, he could've snuck up on them and eavesdropped a little. If he manages to break with the Careers before the Games are over, his lack of light footedness might get him killed. "Was she dead?" Cato asks, crossing his arms defensively.

"No. But she is now." The cannon sounds, and Cato grinds his teeth angrily. "Ready to move on?"

The Careers move on and I try to relax. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. I'm tired, tightly wound, and need a break. Despite my insistence that sleep is not an option, I find it hard to open my eyes again. It's futile. Blackness swallows me, and I'm lost.

"Haymitch!"

"mpf...guh?" I answer. I'm so warm... so comfortable... stupid Effie trying to wake me up...

"_Haymitch!_" Her shrill voice rings loud and clear, accompanied by a nearby titter.

I open one eye tentatively, wondering what the hell Effie is doing in my house. When I take in my surroundings, it hits me with the force of a battering ram. I'm at the Hunger Games. In the District 1 room. I fell asleep. While I had two tributes still living. Who- considering they're District 12 kids- must be dead without me keeping them alive.

I jump up out of my chair, flinging the blanket that is covering me at the nearby snoring Beetee. "How could you let me fall asleep?" I yell at Effie, gesticulating wildly in a blind rage. "Why didn't you prod me with a stick, or inject me with caffeine_, _or _something?_"

I feel sick. If I had something in my stomach, I'm fairly sure it would've reappeared at this particular moment.

"I- " she looks terrified, but I can't stop what I've started.

I cut her off, angrily chucking my chair across the room, where it smacks into Enobaria's dozing form. "How hard would it have been to push me out of my chair, or chuck a bucket of water at my head? Oh wait, you were too busy fixing your goddamned perfect eyebrows to care that Katniss and Peeta were being _murdered_, weren't you?"

At this point Finnick grabs on to me from behind. I struggle against him for a minute, spitting obscenities at Effie the whole time. He's younger and fitter, and I'm no match for him. It's useless to struggle, really, but I fight against him in spite of that. After a minute of intense struggling on my part, I concede that I have no more chance escaping him than the tributes he killed during his time in the Games had.

I wish someone would kill me right now. Knife me in the heart and get it over with. Grief grips me when I think of Katniss and Peeta going back to District 12 in pieces, shoved into little wooden boxes. I slump in Finnick's arms, defeated. No one says anything. They're all staring at me. "At least tell me how it happened," I choke out, breathing deeply in and out to calm myself. "How they died."

Finnick makes an odd noise, somewhere between a snort and a laugh. "God you're one paranoid old codger," he says lightly, releasing me from his grip. The rest of the people in the room, including the Peacekeepers, visibly relax.

"What do you mean?" I ask dumbly. A bubble of hope builds in my stomach in spite of my dread.

"Your tributes aren't dead. And we could've told you that a minute ago if you weren't ready to pull an Enobaria and rip our throats out. Relax old man. It's just a game," Finnick says, fetching my chair and patting on it to indicate that I should sit down.

I do sit down, turning to regard the wall of screens. I don't relax until I get a visual of both of my tributes. Katniss is walking through the forest eating a rabbit, and Peeta is back at the lake with the Careers having a nap. I swallow my pride and turn to Effie. "I'm very sorry Effie. I shouldn't have acted that way. We all know I'm an idiot. Can you ever forgive me?"

She nods, allowing herself a small smile. It was a public, mushy apology, so I would be surprised if she stayed angry after that. I can say a lot of nasty things about her, but if there's one good thing about Effie, it's that she doesn't hold a grudge.

"Are you done screaming Haymitch?" Gloss asks with a yawn. "Some of us were still sleeping."

Enobaria is rubbing her shin and glaring at me accusingly, but keeps her surgically enhanced teeth hidden from view behind a deep-set scowl. She's angry, and I get the feeling I might have to pay for throwing a chair in her direction later.

"Haymitch, could I talk to you for a minute?" Effie asks cheerily, pointedly looking at the door. I follow her out of the room, cautiously keeping my eyes trained on Enobaria.

We go to the District 12 room and I close the door behind us. "What?" I ask. Obviously it has something to do with my tributes that Effie doesn't want to discuss in public. There are very few secrets in this place, but tribute strategies and knowledge of exactly how many sponsors a tribute has are kept secret as far as possible.

"Well, after you fell asleep-" I throw her a dirty look but she ignores me, "Katniss came out of the tree and the Capitol at large gained the knowledge that she'd overheard the Career discussion. And when she _smiled_ like she was in on Peeta's plan to kill the Careers or something... let's just say there's a lot more interest in the starcrossed lovers from District 12."

"How _much_ interest?" I ask. It is the vital question.

"Well, the sponsors are holding back until they're sure that Peeta and Katniss intend to work together, and to see how much chemistry there is between them-"

"Great," I say as I massaging my temples. I'm fairly confident that Katniss intends to stay as far from Peeta as the arena will allow, and if they should ever cross paths, she'd be more likely to stab him in the back than kiss him on the lips.

"-but we could potentially be talking a Finnick-sized portion of sponsorship."

Impressive. But the problem with a Finnick-sized portion is that the longer the Games go on, the less that amount of money is going to get our tributes. The cost of a turkey dinner on day one will get you a piece of jerky on day twelve. "It's not going to happen, dear," I say to quash her excitement. "There's no point in even considering it."

"But-"

"Only one of them gets to leave the Games alive, if I can even manage that much. Building chemistry with a person you've got to kill to win... I hope one of them dies before it comes to that."

She huffs in exasperation and stalks out the door like I've just cancelled her birthday. If they somehow manage to team up, I know that playing up the "love" between them is the best way to get one of them home. I just can't help but worry that if they end up the last two tributes standing, that they won't be up for a fight to the death.


	13. Chapter 13

Hey guys! As always thanks for the reviews! They definitely make me write faster!

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins.**

"C'mon sweetheart," I mutter. "Just keep walking straight".

The past day and a half has consisted of me biting my fingernails to the point where my fingers have started to bleed. Katniss already had a near call with a patch of poisonous berries yesterday, and she's so close to the water it's painful to watch. It's probably exciting for the people in the Capitol who're betting on whether or not she's going to live long enough to find it.

"Water," she says, shaking desperately from dehydration. The only thing that stops me from giving in as she buries her face in her hands is Chaff's hand on my shoulder. I've been in the District 11 room since this morning, when Enobaria and Brutus started betting on how much longer Katniss is going to last in the hot sun blazing down through the trees.

"She'll get there Haymitch," Chaff says when Katniss determinedly-albeit shakily-gets up again. He passes a consolatory bottle of open wine to me.

"Right," I say, taking the bottle and knocking back some of the tart liquid. She probably despises me right now. She's got to know she's got some sponsors out there somewhere, who're anxiously waiting to see if I'll swoop in and save her with a pint of clear liquid. She must think I've abandoned her, and the sponsors must be pissed at me, but I telepathically will her to keep going, and telepathically tell the sponsors to piss off.

Late in the hot afternoon, she collapses mere feet from the water. Chaff joins me in shouting our frustrations at the screen, willing Katniss to crawl her way to the liquid that's close enough for her to touch if she could just stretch out enough to reach it. She lies there for a minute, fingers swirling in the surrounding mud.

Her eyes snap open as the realization of where she is dawns on her dehydrated mind, and she crawls slowly but surely to the water. Our groans of frustration turn to cheers of jubilation, and even Gladdie and Effie join us in a group hug while we jump up and down like children, whooping over our success. She's found a source of water. She's not dead. Finnick comes by to ask if I'm going to come back to the District 1 room now, but the only answer he gets from me is a flip of my middle finger stating exactly how that idea makes me feel.

Watching Katniss all day looking for water has been exhausting, and watching her succeed exhilarating. I'm willing to sleep once I have Chaff's word that if anything even remotely interesting happens, he'll wake me up. Chaff is one of the few people that I implicitly trust in my life, so when I close my eyes I actually find myself nodding off comfortably.

A time later I hear a scream from Effie, and I'm about to ignore it and go back to sleep thinking maybe she found a zit on her perfect face when Chaff swears in my ear and shakes me violently. "Shit. Haymitch, wake up. They've set fire to the forest."

I placed my chair strategically so Katniss's screen is the first thing I see when I open my eyes. Except for a moment, all I see is the darkness of the sky, and smoke and flames, and Katniss is nowhere to be seen. Then the smoke clears in front of the camera and we're treated to a flash of fabric as she plummets from her tree to the ground. She jumps to her feet with her backpack and sleeping bag in tow, and flees the scene.

In my mind I call the Gamemakers every foul word I can think of, but aloud I'm silent. I watch as Katniss dives and ducks, wincing as she gets seared by a fireball shot in her direction courtesy of the sadistic man with his hands on the controls. You can actually see the Gamemakers' control room on one of the screens, and the man who is pushing the button, taking aim at my tribute. The irony of the "Girl on Fire" routine isn't lost on me, and I suspect that this little show is revenge for shooting an arrow at the Gamemakers when she was in the Training Center.

Chaff sits forward in his chair, fist clenched. Apparently Rue is caught up in the fire too, and she's had to abandon swinging through the trees for running on the ground in an attempt to escape the flames. She's fast, but not fast enough to completely evade the balls of fire that chase after her with deadly accuracy.

It seems like an eternity before the attacks on them stop. At dawn Katniss finds her source of water again and proceeds to sink her injured leg and hands into it. Not life threatening as far as injuries go, but definitely painful. Just looking at it makes my skin throb empathetically.

"Rue's about 25 meters behind her," Chaff says. They're both injured, and neither one of them is in any condition to fight. Hopefully they both stay far enough away from one another that they don't get sucked into fighting in such a condition. I watch for a long time as Katniss makes several attempts to leave the water, grimacing in pain every time she lifts her leg out.

I look to Peeta's screen, and he- along with the Careers- has been caught up in the fire too. Burned and bruised, they slow down to take stock of their injuries before starting forward again. After a day without death in the Arena, though, it becomes immediately apparent that the whole purpose of this fire is to force Rue and Katniss into their path. It's really just a matter of time before they come together. With the thick smoke still pouring through the woods, I hope that Katniss and Rue catch sight of the Careers before the Careers catch sight of them.

The Careers won't make it back past the Gamemaker-created flames until they've met up with either Katniss or Rue, so the only way for them to go is forward. Both Rue and Katniss have fallen asleep on the ground, and remaining where they are makes them easy targets. Rue hears them coming first and scrambles forward, looking for a tall tree that still has leaves on it to protect her. Katniss wakes up too, and runs the same direction Rue just has. She scrambles up the tree next to Rue.

I exchange a worried glance with Chaff. Katniss is entirely oblivious to anything but the dangers on the ground, but if Rue wanted to, she could swing over and take my tribute down without a thought. Not that I think she will at the moment, seeing as there's the whole issue of Careers to deal with.

While Rue makes it up to the highest, leafy parts of the tree by the time the Careers arrive on the scene, Katniss is still scrambling noisily up the trunk and she's in full view. They stop. She stops. They silently regard one another for several moments. Katniss, brimming with bravado, smiles down at them. "How's everything with you?" she calls down, like she's just bumped into a group of old friends.

I knew she had spunk. Chaff lets out a laugh, and judging by Effie's grin the rest of the Capitol loves every second of this."Well enough," Cato says nonchalantly. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she replies conversationally. Despite the enormity of the situation, we all have to laugh at that incredible understatement. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

Her challenge sobers me, and the laughter in the District 11 room immediately dies down. "Think I will," Cato says, with a playful coldness that fills me with dread. Glimmer from District 1 offers him a bow and arrows- while Katniss visibly fumes at the mere sight of weapons that should be hers- but he turns them down in favour of his sword.

When Cato starts to climb the tree, Katniss climbs higher. She's 50 feet up the tree when a crack rings out, as Cato and a sizeable branch plummet to the ground. No lasting harm is done to him though, and he gets back up, swearing profusely. Glimmer then tries to climb up the tree, but she, too, weighs too much for the tree to handle. When a foreboding crack rings out, she has the good sense to get her feet back on solid ground.

Katniss is now securely up the tree, and the formidable size of her enemies is completely to their disadvantage. I don't think I've ever been as happy to have an underfed Seam kid as I am right now. Soon they discover that even arrows can't reach her- though that's probably partly to do with Gloss's incompetence with a bow- and Katniss even happily retrieves an arrow that comes close enough for her to reach. She waves it tauntingly above them.

The Careers, who rely on the power of muscles to get them through the Games, are at a loss for what to do. They mutter in frustration at this District 12 girl who's making them look like completely useless idiots. Peeta finally cuts in. "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

While the Careers settle down for the night around the base of the tree, I wonder what Katniss plans to do next. If she were like little Rue, all she'd have to do is swing through the trees as soon as the Careers fall asleep. Rue, I notice, has yet to take her eyes off of my tribute.

"Is she going to try and kill her?" I ask Chaff.

"Doubt it. Rue's all about stealth. Killing Katniss would give away her position... I doubt she'd die particularly quietly."

Katniss settles down for the night, belting herself in and taking in her surroundings. Suddenly, she pushes herself up, staring directly at Rue's tree. For a few minutes the tributes stare at one another. Both are startled, but neither one seems bent on killing the other. Slowly, Rue raises her hand, pointing to an area above Katniss. Katniss tilts her head, looking above her head.

I blanch, and fear trickles through every limb when I lay eyes on the nest above her head. I scramble for the remote, and turn the commentary up as high as the volume button will allow. "That's right folks!" The commentator exclaims cheerfully, with a hushed voice as though he's a wildlife expert who's trying not to stir the dormant nest. "Don't let the dormancy due to fire smoke fool you. That's no ordinary wasps nest! Katniss Everdeen has stumbled onto a _tracker jacker_ nest!" I mute it, not wanting to hear the rest.

"Shiiit," Chaff breathes. His voice is muffled by the hand that covers his mouth. Effie lets out a frightened squeak, clutching her chair with trembling hands. Gladdie's terror is written all over her face, but the only sound from her is unsteady breathing. I'm trying to stay calm, but my nerves have been frayed to infinitesimal fibres and I'm losing my grip on reality. I swallow some wine to strengthen them.

Katniss has certainly been giving the people in the Capitol a good show the past few days, though most of it has been unintentional. I would curse the Gamemakers for putting a tracker jacker nest on the trees, but they clearly aren't on all of them. Katniss's luck just isn't flowing anymore. She's essentially stuck in place, not daring to go up or down. Down below is certain death at the hands of the Careers, and up above is probable death from the stings of countless tracker jackers. If I had to pick the way to die, I'm fairly confident that I would take on the Careers. At least it would be quicker, if a little more bloody. At least you wouldn't have to experience madness-inducing hallucinations.

I stare at the screen without really seeing anything, until Chaff mutters something about "insanity". I blink and my sight focuses. The anthem is playing loudly, but instead of watching the sky my tribute is now sawing through the branch that holds the tracker jacker nest. She stops as the music ends, and I shake my head disbelievingly. She's absolutely nuts, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and dropping the nest on the Careers –while crazy- might just be what she needs to do to get out of this mess.

She works her way carefully down from the nest, back to her sleeping bag. When she gets there she's met by a pot of burn ointment courtesy of her generous sponsors. Effie frantically organized it while interest in the plight of our tribute streamed in during the last half hour, and I pushed the button in front of the screens to deliver the parachute once I realized she isn't necessarily going to die. Fighting for your life is a lot easier when you can focus on the task at hand, without pain to hold you back.

She sinks her fingers into the jar and sighs in relief. "Oh, Haymitch," she whispers. "Thank you." I feel wholly undeserving of the thanks she's giving me, but it's good to know she's forgiven me for ignoring her earlier when she couldn't find water. I hope she takes it as a sign that she should keep going and drop that damn nest on the heads of her enemies.

"Thank Effie, sweetheart," I say to the screen, despite the fact that she can't hear me. "I just pushed the button." It's indescribably fulfilling to watch her relief while she rubs the ointment into her burns, preparing herself for the task ahead.

"Rue." It's whispered quietly, but we hear it clearly due to my insatiable need to have the volume on Katniss's screen on at full blast at all times. Rue pokes her head out of the leaves, pointing up at the nest again. Katniss moves the knife back and forth to imitate sawing. Rue nods, disappearing from Katniss's sight and swinging from tree to tree, putting distance between herself and the nest. Chaff breathes a sigh of relief next to me, and I realize that he's been suspiciously quiet for the past while. He's been worrying about what'll happen to his tribute when all hell breaks loose.

I glance at Peeta's screen. He's wide awake under the tree, looking up occasionally. It's pitch black and Katniss is shrouded by leaves, so I doubt he can see anything. I'd love to tell the kid to run for his life while he has the chance, but there's no possible way to get the message across. Hopefully, since he's awake and the Careers are asleep, he'll have a decent head start on getting the hell out of there. Katniss climbs easily up to the nest that is now starting to buzz faintly as dawn approaches. She starts sawing through the branch and the volume of the buzzing rises ominously.

One of the creatures stabs her in the knee while she's working, but she pushes on in spite of it, running the blade frantically back and forth along the branch. Suddenly the knife separates the branch from the tree. The nest catches on the lower branches for a heart-stopping moment, before falling into the midst of the sleeping Careers. As the nest smashes against the ground, the buzzing reaches a deafening pitch.

All hell breaks loose.


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks for reviewing guys, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins.**

Katniss rips several tracker jacker stingers out of her skin from the few tracker jackers that have identified her as the assailant on their nest, but the rest of the swarm unleashes its fury on the Careers and Peeta. Peeta heads the group of Careers as they run toward the lake, knowing that immersing themselves in water is the only way to survive and fend off the dangerous buzzing insects.

Glimmer from 1 and Finnick's remaining tribute from 4 are not fast enough. They take vital seconds longer to get out of their sleeping bags and receive the brunt of the attack as a result. Glimmer screams mindlessly, trying to fend the insects off with her nearby bow and yelling for help that is definitely not forthcoming. It takes countless tracker jackers to bring her to the ground. Once they do she spends several minutes foaming at the mouth and twitching in agony. The girl from District 4 dies more quietly, moaning feebly as she tries to inch her way in the direction of the lake.

When the coast is clear, Katniss wobbles her way down from the tree and runs in the opposite direction of the Careers, coming to her small pool of water and carefully immersing herself. Not too many have gotten her, but it doesn't take a lot of venom to start the hallucinations. I'm starting to think she might be safe but-

Suddenly she stiffens and her eyes flash up as though she's remembered something vitally important. She jumps awkwardly to her feet, eyes focusing on the direction she's just come. She barrels wildly through the woods on unsteady feet, and I'm left wondering whether the hallucinations have begun and if she still has a sense of herself. "Wh-what is she doing? What the _hell_ is she doing?" I ask Chaff frantically, hoping for some enlightenment.

He has no answer but to shrug and point at the screen. I look back as Katniss reaches the place she has just escaped from, where the only remnants are the bodies of two dying tributes and a smattering of Career supplies. She bolts for Glimmer, who is swollen and disfigured beyond recognition by the venom. As she reaches her, the cannon rings out, signalling that a tribute is dead.

The next thing I know, Katniss is wrestling the bow and arrows away from Glimmer's bloated body, while the hovercraft scoops up the tribute from 4. "Do this!" she says aloud, slurring her words. She finally tears the sheath off of Glimmer's back, and falls backward, looking at the dead tribute with horrified fascination. She's breathing heavily and her eyes are spinning wildly. It's quite obvious she's lost her grip on what is real and what isn't. She needs to get out of there now, and get as far away as possible before someone takes advantage of her condition.

I look to the center screen. Peeta's closing in on her position, followed a few hundred meters behind by Cato. Katniss hears them smashing through the woods and she's taking aim with her bow and notching an arrow. It's quite obvious that she couldn't hit the broadside of a barn right now, and I'm shouting at her to run. Now is not the time to take out the competition. Now is the time to escape with your life.

Peeta bursts through the trees, sopping wet and ready to throw the spear that is clasped in his hands. The look on his face melts from determination to shock as he finds himself in a position he hadn't expected. He must have come back to save her, thinking that Glimmer and the girl from 4 might be out to kill her for pulling such a stunt, since they never came to the lake. Instead he finds her very much alive and the other two very dead.

"What are you doing here?" He whispers harshly at her. She stares at him dumbly, looking incredibly confused by this encounter. Considering that she's been walking around with tracker jacker stings, I'm not surprised. "Are you mad?" He shoves the blunt end of his spear at her. "Get up! Get up!" She tries to get up, and he keeps poking at her. "Run!" he bellows, as Cato breaks into the clearing. "Run!"

Katniss flees at the sight of him, banging through the bushes and bumping into trees with her hands still tightly clasping her bow and arrows. Cato, injured but stubborn, runs toward Peeta with a primal roar. "I knew it!" he screams over and over as he slashes his sword at Peeta with animalistic fury. Peeta ducks and rolls and jumps, trying to evade him. Both tributes are slowing down considerably due to their tracker jacker injuries, and there's not a chance that this fight is going to last long. Cato has clearly been stung more than Peeta, but makes up for it with sheer ferocity.

Boldly, Cato's hand flashes out and tears Peeta's weapon out of his hand. Cato's sword finally makes contact with Peeta's leg, and all you can hear is the sickening thud of knife on flesh, and the squelching sound as he tears it out. I hear someone vomit behind me, but I don't have a clue who it is. The wine I'd had early sits sourly in my stomach, and I want to look away but I can't. Peeta's bleeding freely, but Cato's lost steam and has collapsed on the ground, seeing things that aren't really there.

The secret's out of the bag. Peeta's been out to protect Katniss from the Careers the whole time. It might be worrying to think about what the Careers will do to him when they recover, but right now I don't think he's going to survive the day. Bleeding profusely from his leg, Peeta still has enough sense of self to pull himself away from Cato's writhing form.

He makes it to the nearby stream after what seems like hours of crawling and wincing. Expertly covering himself with mud, he hides his pale, sweaty skin from view. Literally sinking into the mud on the riverbank, he adds some leaves as a finishing touch. When he closes his eyes, you don't even know he's there. Incredible camouflage.

It's a commendable effort, but I don't think any amount of camouflage is going to save Peeta right now. If the Careers don't find him and if he somehow doesn't bleed to death, the unsanitary conditions could ultimately kill him. Infections are rife in the Games, and lying in a muddy pool does nothing to help him evade that. Even at this early stage of the Games the cost of anything strong enough to fight of an infection is astronomical. Peeta has only gained the support of a few, and even Katniss wouldn't make the grade in getting herself that kind of medication.

The Katniss-Peeta team of star-crossed lovers, if the concept had ever gotten off the ground, would have undoubtedly covered the cost at this point in the Games. As it is, all the audience has seen is Peeta's attempts to save the girl he loves, and Katniss's attempts to save herself. Not exactly the kind of undying love that sponsors are looking for. I don't want to think it, but Peeta is as good as dead.

Katniss is in a dire situation too. She's shrieking a long, high-pitched scream as she bats at invisible assailants crawling on her skin. If there's anyone left who hasn't been entirely disarmed by the hallucinations brought on by tracker jacker venom, then my tribute is in an incredibly dangerous position being so visible and yet unable to protect herself.

My eyes shift to the center screen and my breath catches. _Rue_. She's 100 meters ahead of my tribute and closing in fast. That little wisp of a girl is in the perfect position to kill my tribute, since she escaped the attack without a scratch. Katniss might've caused her own demise by warning Rue to leave the scene.

"Think this is it?" I ask Chaff.

"Don't know," He grunts. It goes without saying, but we both find it hard to take when the tributes from 11 and 12 kill each other. "I don't think she's much of a fighter, but then, when else is she going to get the opportunity to take someone out?"

Rue arrives on the scene, swinging through the trees. She's a good 30 feet above the ground when she spots Katniss. Sitting on her branch, she bites her lip while she contemplates the unconscious tribute beneath her. For a long time she sits there doing nothing, watching as Katniss vacillates between unconsciousness and terrifying hallucinations. Katniss begs and pleads for her sister's life, yells for some unseen person to run, and screams in abject agony.

Eventually Chaff pries the remote out of my clammy hands and mutes the sound. I'm about to protest but he nods his head toward the back of the room and I look. Effie is sitting in her chair with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, whiter than a ghost. She looks to be on the verge of tears. I'd like to say something to comfort her, but the only words I can form in my mind consist of accusations of Capitol brutality, and the desire to tell Effie that she has no one to blame for this but the barbaric government led by President Snow, and the people of the Capitol for doing nothing about it. I can't comfort her when I'm angry, so I keep my mouth firmly shut and look back to the now-muted screen.

It hits home when you've gotten to know the tributes who are being sent to their deaths. Maybe if the people of the Capitol had personal interactions with them and actually got to know them before they went into the Arena, there'd be a public outcry and things would change. Maybe then, the Hunger Games wouldn't be the height of entertainment, and the people of the Capitol could actually see it for what it is.

The next two days pass in a blur of listening to the terrified screams of hallucinating tributes and the occasional glance to make sure that Peeta's still alive. Finnick has joined us in the District 11 room after losing his last tribute to Katniss's tracker jacker nest. When your tributes are both gone, you don't actually get to go home until after the Games are over. Despite being a Career, for some reason he's always fit in with the rest of us better than them. Maybe because here he gets to be the most arrogant one in the room. Or maybe because he still has that shred of human decency that the Careers seem to lack.

After spending a few hours on the first day of hallucinations watching Katniss, Rue sneaks into the Career camp and spies on them before coming back to watch her again. Almost like she's protecting her and making sure nothing happens to her. At one point the girl from District 5 sneaks by and Rue rustles the leaves of the tree she's sitting in. The girl catches sight of the menacing rustle of the tree and runs off without investigating further. From then on, she gives the area a wide berth and Katniss is safe from other tributes.

Chaff is as mystified as I am at his tribute's protectiveness.

Finally, Katniss wakes from her hallucinations. She has the look of someone who's been deathly ill for a long time, but she's alive. After taking a long time to drink water, fix up her wounds, and sit and examine her newly-acquired bow and arrows, she finally manages to get to her feet. She's slow and every step seems to take monumental effort, but she quickly manages to shoot a rabbit with her new weapons and find a stream to treat her dehydration and wash herself clean of blood and dirt.

All the while, Rue follows behind at a safe distance. Late in the afternoon, Katniss catches a wild turkey and she's building a fire to cook it on. Rue, either careless or reckless, is within 10 feet of Katniss when she steps on a twig and the sound of the snapping reverberates through the clearing. In a panic she presses herself against the trunk of a tree, and Katniss fluidly notches an arrow in her bow and points.

A single solitary shoe is all that indicates Rue's position. Katniss lowers her bow and smiles when she rests her eyes on it. "You know," she says, putting her arrow back in its sheath, "they're not the only ones who can form alliances."

"You want me for an ally?" Rue asks sceptically after a quiet minute, poking her head carefully around the tree.

"Why not? You saved me with those tracker jackers. You're smart enough to still be alive. And I can't seem to shake you anyway." Rue stays behind the tree for a minute, trying to determine whether or not she can trust Katniss.

I exchange a look with Chaff, my eyebrows raised. He's grinning at me. "Freeloading _bastard_," I mutter. I try to glare at him but we both know I'm not serious. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it? Team up with my tribute to give the cute little girl a fighting chance?"

He laughs at me, patting my shoulder. "Seems like something I would do, doesn't it? Nah, I reckon they're just smart enough to know what's good for them."

"Suppose so." It is good for them to be together in the short term, certainly, but I can't envision Katniss ever being able to kill this little girl. Then again, I can't imagine Rue killing Katniss either. You don't stick a knife in the person you've watched over for two days.

"You hungry?" Katniss asks. Rue looks at the food longingly. As she should, considering the only thing I've seen her eat in the last two days is some berries. "Come on then, I've had two kills today."

Rue finally steps out from behind the tree, still tense but with a look on her face that shows she desperately wants to be able to trust her. "I can fix your stings."

"Can you? How?"

Rue digs into the pack she's carrying, pulling out some leaves and showing them to Katniss. I don't have a clue what they are, but Katniss seems to know and she looks relieved.

"Where'd you find those?"

"Just around," Rue shrugs. "We all carry then when we work in the orchards. They left a lot of nests there. There's a lot here, too."

The next few minutes consist of Rue chewing leaves and sticking them on Katniss's stings, and Katniss using her burn ointment on Rue's bright red arm. They're both sighing in relief. Both getting friendly with the competition, which I know from personal experience will make it harder on one of them when the other dies.

"You weren't joking, about wanting me for an ally?" Rue asks seriously a few minutes later.

"No, I meant it."

"Okay." Rue holds her right hand out for Katniss to shake. "It's a deal."

Now that the two tributes are freely talking, the Capitol puts on a bit of a lag so they can block out any incriminating information about the Districts. We all know vaguely what the industries of the other Districts are, but the Capitol tends to want to keep the majority of the information a guarded secret. During the next few hours as Katniss and Rue eat and talk, we're treated to many silent moments as the words are wiped out in places.

A few seconds of lag might not seem like a long time, but without a live shot we're constantly glancing between the middle screen and the screens of our tributes to make sure that no one is sneaking up on them. It's growing increasingly frustrating. The Careers are still nursing their wounds, but since Katniss has recovered, they could be roaming around at any time. Fury is a powerful thing so I'm not taking any chances in how long they'll stay away.

Between the silent moments caused by nervous Gamemakers, the two girls split up the remaining food, and Rue tells Katniss that the glasses she has are for seeing in the darkness, not for seeing in the sunlight like she'd originally thought. They could be useful when the Careers come hunting for them in the night.

"Where do you sleep?" Katniss asks Rue as night starts to fall. "In the trees? In just your jacket?"

"I have these for my hands," Rue replies, holding up a pair of socks.

"You can share my sleeping bag if you want. We'll both easily fit."

She looks excited by the prospect of a warm night in the Arena. It must be cold in there. The two of them climb up a tree for the night. As they settle in, the anthem begins to play. Katniss covers her mouth with her hand, and over the noise of the anthem I can't hear what she's saying. Rue follows suit, and they have a secret conversation that none of the rest of us can hear. Maybe it's something she doesn't want the whole of Panem to hear, but it's incredibly annoying being left wondering what they're talking about.

As the anthem ends, Katniss pulls out the glasses to test them in the darkness. "I wonder who else got a pair of these," She says, impressed as she surveys the woods.

"The Careers have two pairs. But they've got everything down by the lake. And they're so strong." Rue says this quietly, looking around like she expects the Careers to descend on them at any moment.

"We're strong too," Katniss argues, "Just in a different way."

"You are," Rue corrects her miserably. "You can shoot. What can I do?"

"You can feed yourself. Can they?"

"They don't need to. They have all those supplies."

Katniss thinks about this for a minute. It's hard to argue with that, because the Careers are solidly in control of the supplies. With an endless supply of food and weapons, it's really no surprise when one of them wins the Games. "Say they didn't. Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last? I mean, it's the Hunger Games, right?"

"But Katniss, they're not hungry."

"No, they're not. That's the problem. I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."

With that, the two tributes go to sleep, both visibly relaxing with the other person there beside them. I'm left staring at them, wide awake despite the late hour, and wondering what exactly my tribute is planning to do. I ask the room at large what they think is going through her head.

"Well," Finnick says behind me, "Whatever it is, I hope they're smart enough to not go rushing in there, or Beetee's tribute's mines are going to blast them off the face of the Earth."

"They're too smart for that," Chaff argues, crossing his arms angrily at Finnick's matter-of-fact tone.

I take a drink, hoping Chaff is right, but not feeling quite so optimistic.


	15. Chapter 15

As always, Danke für die Berichte. Hope you enjoy the next chapter. I've done my own interpretation on how the Gamemakers devised the idea that two tributes could win before heartlessly repealing that idea... probably completely wrong, but hey, maybe we'll know in a few weeks' time?

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins'.**

After eating breakfast early the next morning, Katniss looks determinedly in the direction of the Career's camp and shoulders her backpack, along with her bow and arrows. "Ready to do it?" She asks Rue.

"Do what?" Rue asks getting quickly to her feet.

"Today we take out the Careers' food."

Rue asks what we're all wondering. "Really? How?"

"No idea. Come on, we'll figure out a plan while we hunt."

While they hunt, Katniss grills Rue for information about the Careers' camp. She learns that the boy from District 3 –a strictly non-Career District- has been watching over their food supply which is out in the open as if it's daring the tributes to come in and take some. Katniss remarks that there's something odd about that, and I'm starting to gain some confidence in thinking that maybe she won't just barge in and get herself blown up.

They talk about their Districts, and though some things are removed by the Gamemakers, we learn small things. Rue tells Katniss that above all, she loves music. There's not a lot of music in District 12. If it's not useful, we don't have the time for it in the coal District. She shares a four-note run with Katniss, telling her that people know that the work in the orchard is done for the day when the mockingjays repeat it.

Katniss unclasps something from her shirt and hands it to Rue. "Here, you take it. It has more meaning for you than me."

The camera zooms in on a pin of a golden mockingjay. It looks familiar, and I feel like I've seen it before. I have to think about it for a few seconds before it hits me. I _have_ seen it before.

Maysilee's pin.

Maysilee Donner's pin, which she wore during the 50th Hunger Games, when her and I were allies in the arena together. Before she was... How did Katniss get Maysilee's pin? I stare at it, taking in a sight that I haven't seen for 24 years. For a minute, when I look at the screen I don't see Katniss. I see little Maysilee. Young but determined Maysilee, who died at the hands of the Capitol.

I'm more resolute than ever for Katniss to win. It's a sign, and I'm mesmerized by it.

"Oh no," Rue replies, closing Katniss's fingers around the pin. She hides it from view and breaks the hypnotic pull that it has on me. I struggle to push unwanted memories of Maysilee's demise out of my mind. "I like to see it on you. That's how I decided to trust you. Besides, I have this." She shows Katniss a necklace of what looks like a flower. "It's a good luck charm."

I hope that its luck holds out for the both of them for the coming afternoon. Katniss's plan is fairly simple. Rue will set fires to lure the Careers away from their camp, and Katniss will devise a way to rid the Careers of their food. They agree to use the mockingjay signal as a way of telling the other that they're alright.

"Okay then," Katniss says. "If all goes according to plan, I'll see you for dinner."

Rue closes the space between them and hugs Katniss tightly. Katniss stiffens before hugging her back. "You be careful," Rue says.

"You too," Katniss replies before turning and heading off toward the Career's camp. As she gets closer she becomes more cautious, glancing in the direction of even the smallest sound. In what seems like a very short period of time to me, she reaches the camp and takes it all in.

They're still recovering from tracker jacker stings, with swollen bumps lining their arms and legs. The supplies have been moved since the start of the Games, so they're now in a pyramid, with a few items placed strategically around it to warn the Careers of where it is safe to step. Knowledge that Peeta has, but Katniss does not.

Katniss bites her lip for awhile as she surveys the set-up. I wish I knew what she was thinking. I hope she gives it up as a bad job instead of heading in for a closer look like I'm worried she might. Instead, as the first fire is set and the Careers ready themselves to leave, Katniss doesn't look like she's going to go anywhere.

They argue momentarily over the boy from District 3 coming with them. "He's coming," Cato says. "We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway. No one can touch those supplies."

"What about Lover Boy?" Marvel argues. Peeta's still alive, though how alive is really a question as we haven't properly seen him since he'd covered himself in mud. I look at his screen, and you can't even see him. Hardly a threat to the Careers.

"I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us," Cato retorts.

I wonder what Katniss thinks about this news, that her District counterpart is as good as dead. If he was in her position right now, I think he'd go to any lengths to find her. Katniss, on the other hand, has the same sense of self preservation that the general tribute population has. She's in this to win this and get home, not to play on the weak hearts of the people of the Capitol and save the boy she will later have to kill.

"Come on," Cato says, roughly shoving a spear in the hands of the District 3 tribute. "When we find her, I kill her in my own way, and no one interferes."

Finnick whistles low behind me as the Careers start their quick hike into the forest. "Look at his face. He wants Katniss dead like a starving man wants food."

"Or like you want an eternally youthful face," Chaff retorts.

The room is silent for the next half hour, while Katniss surveys the Career camp in peace and quiet. Eventually she makes a step toward the camp- and I cringe at what I'm sure is to come- when the girl from District 5 bursts out of the woods. Katniss stops and watches the girl run for the pyramid.

When she reaches the circle of supplies around the pyramid she stops, positioning herself in a particular spot. She does a series of hops to evade the planted mines, but at one point in the sequence overshoots and barrels towards the ground. There's a collective intake of breath, and then a sigh as the girl's hands hit the ground and she's terrified but unharmed. She jumps quickly to her feet and continues on to the center of the supplies, where she fills her bag with small amounts of food that will go unnoticed. She then repeats the series of hops and steps, and leaves the booby-trapped supply safely behind her.

Katniss's eyes never leave the tribute as all of this is going on. She's poised tensely against the tree, frowning intently when the other tribute leaves the scene. Suddenly her eyes widen and her mouth opens as it dawns on her. She's discovered the secret. "It's mined," she whispers, incredulous.

"There you go sweetheart," I mutter, impressed. "Now what're you going to do about it?"

She leaves the bushes at the edge of the forest, to examine the recently-dug earth around the metal starting plates of the Games. She paces back and forth, considering the problem that's facing her. Glancing at the woods, the smoke from a second fire set by Rue wafts across the sky.

"It's pointless," Finnick says, wheeling her chair next to mine with his feet. "She'd be better just to leave. Even Beetee said the only way to blow that thing up is to rush at it with a mob of suicidal idiots."

"She'll think of something," I say. I try to hide the desperation and excitement that I feel. I could quite easily be getting excited for nothing, but I want to believe that this girl, with Maysilee's pin and with the most spunk I've ever seen in a tribute, is capable of making a move that could change the outcome of these Games. Without food, the pampered Careers will be done.

With determined steps, Katniss moves closer to the supply pyramid. She places two arrows in the ground beside her, and notches another one expertly in her bow. Spreading her feet, she takes aim at the pile of supplies.

"What-" Finnick starts to ask, as Katniss lets fly. The arrow grazes the top side of a burlap sack full of apples. He shuts up, and we wait with bated breath as she fires a second arrow, which succeeds in splitting the original hole even wider. She notches her third and final arrow.

"She'll never-" Finnick starts. As she lets it fly, it's as if everything is in slow motion. The arrow catches the bag, ripping it apart. Apples spill down, thundering across the mine-ridden ground. For a moment, everything is eerily still.

I yell involuntarily as the first explosion rings out and I'm not the only one. The camera shakes with the resulting explosions, and we lose sight of Katniss. When the camera finds her, she's sprawled across the ground. I don't know if she's dead, because the shot of a cannon would be lost against the thundering of the explosions.

After a full minute, the shaking stops and Katniss's camera takes in the scene left for the Careers before settling on my tribute. She moves infinitesimally and must still be alive. Where the pyramid had been, there's nothing more than a smouldering pile of junk, and the ground is pockmarked with holes. They'll get nothing useful from that giant mess. I hear the shouts of horror and howls of disbelief coming all the way from the District 1 room, and I smirk.

"I wouldn't want to be Beetee right now," Finnick says. His tribute's big idea to mine all of the supplies will reflect on him as a mentor, and the Career mentors don't take setbacks lightly. "Hope he knows how to duck and roll. I wouldn't put it past Enobaria to use her teeth on him."

I would go and help him out, but my tribute is still in a precarious position and I don't want to leave her alone. "Effie?" I ask, inclining my head to the door. It's clear that Finnick doesn't want to get involved and annoy his sometimes-allies, and Chaff, Gladdie, and I are glued to the screen and the safety of our tributes.

"Fine," She says, grumbling and leaving the room to go rescue Beetee and Cameress. The Peacekeepers will make sure that they aren't killed, but I wouldn't put it past the Gamemakers to show some footage of the two being pummelled. She comes back a moment later, followed closely behind by a pair of visibly-shaken but unharmed mentors. You can still hear the Career mentors shouting and throwing miscellaneous objects around the room.

"I _told_ you," Enobaria's voice raises above the rest. "I _told_ you we should've killed her when we had the chance!"

Katniss is on her feet but incredibly unbalanced, and she falls to the side after a few steps. She stays on the ground on her hands and knees. She has to get out of there. The Careers heard the explosions, and they're quickly on their way back to the camp.

She puts a hand near her left ear, and as she pulls it back to her face we can see that it's covered in blood. "She's deaf," Chaff says, horrified. The terror my tribute feels, unable to hear her attackers and unable to run away, must be intense.

She pulls her hood over her head and crawls forward slowly. Another blast from a wayward mine flattens her to the ground. It happens two more times as she crawls toward the coverage of the woods. She's barely out of sight when Cato smashes out of the woods and onto the flat expanse of the plain, followed closely behind by his allies.

It would be comical to watch him tear his hair out and beat on the ground, screaming obscenities, if I wasn't fearing for Katniss's life. I can only see the bottom half of my tribute, hidden as she is among the trees.

Beetee's tribute throws a series of stones into the still-smouldering circle. "They're all detonated," He says with easily discernible nervousness. He knows he's in trouble. The Careers all approach the smouldering piles. They find nothing to salvage.

Cato turns furiously on the District 3 tribute, spittle flying from his mouth while he shouts. "This is all _your_ fault! You and your stupid plan! I bet you were in with 12 the whole time!"

The boy from District 3 makes a valiant effort to turn tail and run, but Cato wraps a muscled arm and breaks his neck with limited movement. The kid didn't have a chance. He might've been a technological genius, but out in the wild that's not enough.

"I'M GOING TO KILL HER!" Cato rages, bellowing loud enough that I wonder if Katniss can hear him, despite being deaf.

"It might not have been 12, Cato. Besides, whoever did this has got to be dead," Clove protests. "There's no way they could've escaped the blast. We'll see who it was tonight." She points to the sky.

"It's 3's fault. Some idiot tribute walked in here, and then all of the mines got set off because of his stupid design," Marvel adds.

As night falls, the anthem begins the play and the seal of Panem appears in the sky above the surviving tributes. The only faces that flash across the sky belong to the dead tribute from 3, and the remaining tribute from 10. As it goes dark, you can see Clove's face mirror the fury on Cato's.

The tribute who blew up their camp is still alive. "I told you," Cato says to the other Careers with as much calmness as he can muster. He sets a tree branch on fire for a torch, and the other two tributes put on their night-vision glasses with grim expressions. Without further discussion, they head into the woods to hunt for the tribute who has blown up their camp.

Katniss puts on her own glasses and settles in for the night. The Careers get further away from her with every step, and I sit back in my chair, taking the wine bottle from Chaff's waiting hand.

"Eight left," Finnick says. "Well, seven if you don't count Peeta."

"Why wouldn't you count Peeta?" Beetee asks. "He's still alive."

"Well, Haymitch has obviously given up on him," Finnick says. "And when a mentor gives up on you, you're as good as dead."

I'm feeling defensive. I haven't given up on him. The kid gave up on himself before he even got in the arena, and he'd made the conscious decision to watch out for Katniss to maybe get a District 12 victory. I'm doing what the kid wanted me to do in the first place. "Shut the hell up, Finnick," I say as I take another drink. "I can't do anything for him."

"It's a shame only one tribute can win," Finnick sighs. I turn around and glare at him with a look that says 'shut up or I'll pummel you right here right now'. "I mean, what if _two_ could win... I bet Katniss would go to any lengths to save Peeta..." his eyes flash infinitesimally toward the camera at the back of the room, but my eyes never leave his face. "It would be incredibly entertaining, watching the star-crossed lovers fighting the elements and the tributes, together. Groundbreaking reality television. A soap opera played out before our very eyes."

"Never gonna happen, Finnick," I say. He winks at me. "The Hunger Games follows a tried and true formula. 24 tributes enter, all out for themselves. It's been that way for 73 years, so why would it change now?"

"Ah, well," he says. "It's an idea, anyway. It'd be a nice change from the 'crush and kill' method, to have some actual teamwork for once."

"Hn." If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was trying to bring about a rule change. The Gamemakers will never buy it. The idea that only one tribute can survive is the whole point of the Hunger Games.

Anything else is unthinkable.


	16. Chapter 16

Okay, this chapter was like pulling teeth, because I was trying to think how I want to write Rue's death through Haymitch's eyes, and I've never had PTSD, so I really had to think about it. Plus I read Mockingjay and needed a few days to recover. So... enjoy! And as always, thank you very insanely much for the reviews! By the way, there's pretty detailed references to Haymitch's Game so **CF SPOILERS**

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins'.**

Katniss spends the night in a hollow under the bushes, covered in a layer of leaves. It's unsettling to not be able to see her, but at least the Careers will have the same trouble. Even with their glasses, they could easily walk right past her and have no idea that she's there. Rue, on the other hand, isn't so lucky, and spends most of the night evading the Careers as they comb through the woods.

The next morning, the girl from District 5 comes back, sprinting out of the woods, and finds some useful things hidden in the rubble of the pyramid. She laughs at the mess, and we all know what she's thinking. Now that the Careers have no supplies, this is anyone's Game. All bets are off, and survival now depends on resourcefulness as much as it does on the ability to fight.

Katniss sticks her head out of the bushes a little, so she must've heard her laughter. This can only mean that she's able to hear again in some capacity, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the thought that she's not going to be running around this place completely deaf. As the girl from District 5 runs off, Katniss drags herself out of the bushes, notches an arrow in her bow, and completes her morning routine of hunting.

Her hearing must still be off, since every once in awhile she'll rub at her left ear like she's trying to remove something from it, and she has her head oddly tilted to favour her right side. She could've broken an eardrum when she blew up the mines. A small price to pay for making such a Game-changing move, but an annoyance nonetheless. If she ever gets home alive, the Capitol doctors will be able to fix her in a second. They might even make her able to hear better than before.

She comes to the meeting place, where she was supposed to meet Rue yesterday. Rue's not there. Rue's on the move, swinging through the trees, occasionally stopping to see if she's still being pursued. The Careers caught up with her late last night before she could set the third fire, and though she's been able to evade them since then, they're still heading in her direction.

Eventually, all 3 remaining Career tributes split up and head in different directions in the hopes of catching the elusive tribute from District 11, as well as the hopes of finding something edible. While Katniss waits until late afternoon for Rue, her ally is being stalked by the boy from District 1. Granted she hasn't been in much danger so far, since she's been swinging from tree to tree, but she's going to have to come down sometime.

Katniss's face registers worry, and she gets to her feet, scattering a few mint leaves on the ground as evidence that she made it to their meeting place. A short time later she reaches the third, unlit fire. Frowning, she continues past it, visibly making an effort to keep her footsteps as light and quiet as possible. Obviously something kept Rue from completing the mission.

On another screen, we see the boy from 1 get a solid look at Rue, and as she turns to look back, he hides behind a trunk. Rue sits in the tree for several minutes, allowing herself a small grin at seemingly out-swinging the boy from 1, as he hasn't appeared. I glance at Chaff, who's grimacing. I know what he's thinking. _Stay in the tree, Rue_. I close my eyes for a minute to clear my head.

My eyes snap open as Rue lets out the four-note tune, to signal to Katniss that she's alright. The mockingjays tilt their heads and listen as she repeats it, and one by one they take up the call. The woods, so quiet just a minute ago, rings with the four-note sound, over and over again. The boy from 1 tenses and looks around uneasily, maybe expecting that he's walked into a trap and the harmless birds are about to peck his eyes out. Eventually he realises that they're not going to swoop down and attack him. He relaxes and stares intently at Rue. Waiting.

Katniss, not far from Rue, hears the tune from a mockingjay. Smiling, she sings back softly. Not yet able to see Katniss, Rue slides eagerly down the tree, running straight into the path of the boy from1 in her rush to get to Katniss. Finnick swears profusely behind me.

I hear a pained groan from Chaff, muffled by the hand he's got clenched over his mouth. As Rue runs past the tree he's hiding behind, the boy from 1 launches himself in front of her, throwing his net wide. It catches her and Rue falls to the ground, thoroughly entangled. "Got you," he sneers. "And there ain't a thing you can do about it."

We hear a cheer ring out from the Career's room, as the mentors cheer at their tribute's success. It's not Katniss, but surely they've got her sidekick out of the way. The little girl doesn't stand a chance against a well-armed Career.

Rue screams so loudly that the mockingjays take flight, warily circling the scene. I glance at Katniss's screen. There's no way she could've missed it. White-faced and frantic, Katniss sprints in the direction of the scream. I blink, but when my eyes open, it's no longer Katniss that I see, running to save Rue from a murderous tribute. It's me, running to save Maysilee from a Gamemaker's genetically engineered weapons.

_No_. I think to myself. _Not here. Not now_. A flood of images that I've been drinking intently to deny for the past 20-odd years threatens to overwhelm me as I recognize the similarities that this chain of events has to my own Games. I'm only vaguely aware of Rue screaming for Katniss, and Katniss screaming for Rue, telling her that she's coming. I can smell the deceptively-innocent scent of flowers that I haven't smelled in 24 years, and see them studded haphazardly in a sea of lush green grass and trees. All of this, juxtaposed alongside the woods of the present as Katniss and I sprint, unable to feel the ache of muscles and air-starved lungs amid the rush of adrenaline that pushes us forward. We refuse to stop.

We have to make it. Not because she's an ally. Not because she's saved our life and we feel that we owe her something. We have to make it because she's a glimmer of light in this desperate place. She's reminder that outside of this prison, good things and good people exist. She's a reminder of happier times, with the people we love. If her light is extinguished, we'll have to face the fact that this Game is real, that this world is real, and we'll have to acknowledge that we'll never wake up from this eternal nightmare.

We're not going to be fast enough. We know it. We knew it as soon as we heard the scream that signalled the danger, but we can't accept it. As Katniss and I break into the clearing, the boy from 1 turns into a candy pink bird, and skewers the little girl where she lies, defenceless to stop him, hands stretched out toward us, her last hope. She's too late. I'm too late. We're both too late.

Too late to save her.

Killing the source of her death does nothing to assuage the despair that threatens to overwhelm us. She's still alive, but one look at her bleeding wound makes it clear that she won't last long. I cross my arms and wrap them against my chest, trying to hold myself together while Katniss takes Rue's trembling hand in her own.

"You blew up the food?" Rue whispers.

"Every last bit," Katniss assures her.

"You have to win," Rue says, looking Katniss straight in the eyes.

"I'm going to. Going to win for both of us now," Katniss promises. My throat tightens, and I swallow loudly, trying to clear the obstruction. It's no use.

"Don't go," Rue says, her voice growing faint. It's an effort for her to talk.

"Course not. Staying right here," Katniss says, gently pulling Rue's head into her lap and stroking her hair.

"Sing," Rue says, barely audible.

It takes Katniss a minute to clear her throat, but when she sings, the mockingjays fall silent. She sings a song that encapsulates the hope that this dying girl represents. A flood of emotion escapes the tenuous dam of my arms as Rue closes her eyes peacefully, and Katniss's tears fall onto her face.

"_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you_"

There's absolute silence in the room after the final note. The cannon rings out, signalling that Rue is dead. Katniss doesn't leave the scene, to allow the hovercraft to take the body away. She has an odd look in her eyes, and the cameras flash off in another direction, concealing the scene from view as Katniss gets to her feet. Capricious tributes scare the Gamemakers, and Katniss has a glazed look of complete unpredictability.

I look to the middle screen to make sure that Katniss isn't in any immediate danger, before glancing to my side and meeting Chaff's eyes, which are brimming with tears.

"You seem to have sprung a leak," I say with an attempt to lighten the mood, my voice cracking with the effort.

"Look who's talking," Chaff says with half a laugh, wrapping an arm around my shoulders for support.

As soon as he says it, I notice a distinct wetness on my face. I haven't cried in so long, I wasn't aware that it was even possible. I hate giving the Capitol the satisfaction of knowing that they've gotten to me. That they've beaten me down, in a way worse than any physical torture could ever be. Chaff and I sit next to one another in silence as the tears roll down our faces, the only interruption being Effie's intermittent loud sobs. I rub the salty water off my face in frustration, but it's quickly replaced.

It takes some time for the room as a whole to regain composure, and once we do, the camera moves back to Rue, to film the hovercraft lifting her body from the arena. "She's covered in flowers," Chaff breathes softly, touching a hand lightly to the screen in front of him, like he's trying to feel the petals through the screen.

"Bye Rue," Katniss whispers, touching the three middle fingers of her left hand to her mouth, before extending her arm towards the flower-laden tribute. The hovercraft picks up the tribute's broken body, but Katniss is gone from the scene.

Effie bursts into a torrent of fresh tears, while Chaff and I sit beside one another. I feel odd. Empty, because Rue has been killed. Full, because Katniss has paid the little girl more respect than a tribute is required to pay to a fallen ally, and shown that she refuses to follow the Capitol's whim and celebrate that she is one step closer to victory. I decide on optimism, and tell myself I feel half-full. But my bottle is half-empty, and Finnick throws it against the wall in a rage. It's now all-empty.

Not one to be denied my fix, I open a new bottle, giving it to Chaff. He must need it worse than I do. He looks at it, frowning, with a crease between his eyebrows. Deciding. "No," he finally mutters, pushing it gently back to me. He looks me in the eye, and says, "I don't want to forget."

I look away from his penetrating gaze, and down at the bottle clenched in my hands. I regard it for a full minute, considering. "Well," I say, looking up at the wall behind him, unable to meet his gaze, "I'm too scared to remember." He puts an understanding hand on my shoulder as I chug back wine as fast as my throat will allow.


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks a million for the reviews. Good or bad, they make me want to write. So thank you. I (sadistically, I know) like making you guys tear up. Maybe I'll try it again sometime?

Haven't decided what I'm doing after this project yet... if I'd like to try CF with Haymitch, or if I'd like to try my hand with another character for HG. I think it's going to depend on what you guys would like to read.

**I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc., it's all Suzanne Collins'.**

"Haymitch."

"Mmpfg?" I reply, turning over on the hard cold surface that is my bed. I have absolutely no intention of getting up. I haven't been this hung-over in ages. My entire body aches, and my mouth tastes like vomit. Not to mention the pounding in my head, which is worse than everything else put together.

What even _happened_ last night (I _think_ it was last night), after Katniss left Rue? Except for that one moment, when she turned around and extended her fingers to the dead tribute, everything before and after is a blur. I vaguely recall sending something to my tribute, when Chaff and Effie shoved me in front of the button and told me to press it. With the promise of another bottle of wine, I'd willingly obliged them.

"Haymitch." The voice is more insistent this time. I feel a shoe against my shoulder, pushing at me. Considering the pointed toe and the 5 inch heel currently digging into my back, I decide that it can only belong to Effie. I've never thought of her wardrobe as functional, but it seems like these spiky little shoes were designed specifically to wake me up from my drunken stupor. I wonder if they're Cinna's design or if I have some other stylist to thank.

I open a bleary eye, blinking profusely when the light shines in. Ouch. An instant sharp pain flashes through my head. "What?" I ask, my voice muffled by the cheek I have squished against the floor. No one answers me, and I grumble while Effie and Chaff stare down at me. I push myself up to a sitting position once I figure out that they aren't going to start talking until I get up. "Honestly, unless someone's maimed, dead, or dying, I'm going back to sleep."

"Well you've slept an entire day, and Effie and I have come to the conclusion that you need to get up and do something useful," Chaff says. I think about it for a minute, and decide that he has a point.

"And I agree with them," Finnick adds, raising a hand.

"Who asked _you_?" I snort. Great. The pretty boy from District 4 has no tributes left, so he's decided he should join the club and tell me what to do with mine. "Would anyone else like to chime in?" I ask angrily, trying to push myself off the ground. A pain in my left elbow indicates how I'd landed on the floor last night, and I stop to rub it. Effie hands me a pack of ice, and I slap it on my arm.

"Well Beetee and Cameress are asleep, so you'll have to wait to ask them," Finnick retorts, nudging my chair closer towards me with his foot. "Though I'd bet they'll agree with us."

I look to the corner and see Beetee and Cameress both wedged into the small bed, the stress lines on their faces less pronounced in sleep. I guess they didn't want to go back to their room yesterday once all the excitement had died down. I'd be annoyed at having to pass out on the hard floor when there was a close-by, perfectly comfortable bed, if I didn't understand it. No one likes to be alone in this place. The more people there are surrounding you, who know what it's like to go through this process, the better.

Getting a firm hold on the chair, I drag myself up and sit down. "Right. So, what'd I miss?"

"You sent Katniss bread from District 11," Effie says.

"Yep." So _that's_ what I'd sent her. I wondered why Chaff had been so insistent. Despite a comprehension of his sentimentality, I wonder just how much that bread cost us, and whether it could've been put to better use. Then again, if it was from District 11, maybe they would have spent the money on Thresh if not for Katniss paying her respects to Rue.

"Katniss spent the night in a tree," Chaff says.

"Yep." No surprises there.

"She went hunting," Effie says, with obvious distaste. Apparently she doesn't like blood. Or maybe she doesn't think that girls should be shooting pointy sticks at vermin.

"Yep."

"She set made a fire and cooked some food," Chaff says.

"Ye- _what_?" She set a _fire? _During the Games? Where any of the remaining tributes could have seen her? I'm about to launch into a rant about the stupidity of setting fires at night in the arena, but Finnick laughs at my incredulous expression.

"Don't worry. The other tributes are scared of her. Or at least, they don't want a confrontation on her terms. None of them dared to come within a mile of her fire."

I turn my chair and scrutinize Katniss while she sits in the tree, despite the fact that she's shrouded in darkness. She looks okay. Physically, anyway. If she ever gets out of here, she'll get to treasure the psychological scars for the rest of her life. Well, maybe that's an exaggeration, but I've had them for 24 years and they don't seem like they're going to go away any time soon. I'm guess that lighting the fire was her way of saying '_go ahead, come try to kill me'_. Rue's death must've hit her pretty hard. I know Maysilee's death made me a little reckless.

The anthem plays, but no faces appear in the sky above my tribute. "Peeta still alive?" I ask miserably as I glance at his screen. The poor kid must wish he was dead by now.

"Yep," Finnick says cheerfully. "At this rate, he'll outlive them all." What a morbid thought that is.

The anthem dies away, and we all sit back in our chairs. But a boring night is not what the Gamemakers have in mind, and there's a blast of trumpets, signalling that Claudius is about to make an announcement. I already feel my stomach sinking as we all sit up straight. Excitement in the arena is never a good thing. I take a swig from the nearest bottle to clear the taste of stale vomit out of my mouth, before putting it back on the floor beside me.

Claudius Templesmith's voice rings out. "Congratulations to the six remaining tributes of the 74th Hunger Games! If you're not sitting down, you might want to." He waits for a moment, and running my eyes along all the screens, I see Cato and Clove exchange a glance and sink to the ground, tense. "It is my deepest pleasure to announce to you all, that there has been a rule change, immediately in effect. This new rule declares that _both_ tributes from the same district will be declared winners, _if_ they are the last two standing!"

We all stare dumbly at the wall of screens. Claudius repeats the rule change, like he knows that we don't understand what he's just said. As it sinks in, my hands start to shake. Both of my tributes could win this thing. _Both of them_. "Peeta," Katniss and I call out in unison.

Effie's sobbing ecstatically, Finnick is grinning, and Beetee and Cameress are still slumbering in the corner. Chaff looks completely nonplussed when I turn to him. I'm laughing with an edge of madness. "Well?" I ask him impatiently, when he makes no move to speak. "What do you think?"

"I think it's too good to be true," he says quietly. I grudgingly admit that he might be right. The Gamemakers aren't exactly known for changing the rules halfway through the game, but they've succeeded in raising my hopes. I'm going to pretend that they've grown a heart for once and that this is all real. "But if it is true, I wish they'd made that rule earlier. Before..." he trails off, and I know he's thinking of Rue.

We all sit there for awhile, taking it all in and formulating ideas about what this rule change means. The only teams that would benefit from this rule change are Katniss and Peeta and Clove and Cato. Maybe there's been enough interest in the District 12 "star-crossed lovers" concept that the Capitol wants to bring it to fruition. Mix things up for once.

If that's the case, I'm prepared to manipulate this for all it's worth, despite the fact that Katniss has up to now only shown her affection for Peeta by not going out of her way to kill him. Dropping a tracker jacker nest on his head is a definite strike against her in the lover department. She's going to have to work harder to convince the audience that she likes him, but if she does it, they could both be going home together.

If he's still alive, that is. According to the blinking picture on the center screen, he's still with us. Just what condition he's in is difficult to ascertain, because he's effectively made himself one with his surroundings. "Vitals?" I ask Chaff, who's currently in possession of the remote. He presses the button that control's Peeta's screen several times, before a rotating picture of him appears, surrounded by an assortment of writing.

The trackers they inserted in the tributes before the Games began do a fair job of telling you what physical shape a tribute's in. It's even colour-coded, for those of us who don't know a thing about medicine. Green means you've got nothing to worry about, yellow means you'd better start paying attention, and red means you've got to be kidding if you're wasting precious time and resources keeping this corpse of a human being alive. Of course, Peeta's core temperature, blood pressure, pulse, and respiratory rates are all flashing ominously in red.

Fantastic.

I grab my bottle off the floor with one hand, and rub the grime out of my eyes with the other. Somehow, Katniss needs to find Peeta and keep him alive. Somehow, I've got to get Katniss to convince the country that the two of them are madly in love. As Katniss closes her eyes and settles down for the night, I sit forward and look at Peeta's unmoving form. Thinking.

"Haymitch," Effie asks me tentatively, her voice still a little wobbly from crying.

"What?" I snap. I need to concentrate. I need to figure out what I'm going to do to get those kids out of there alive. I'm about to unleash a stream of abuse when I turn and get a look at her tear-stained face. I soften my aggravated expression when I realize that Effie's a human beneath the pink wig and stiletto shoes.

"Are you going to get them home?" She whispers.

"Maybe," I say honestly. It's the best answer I can give. I don't believe in sugar-coating the truth. She nods and steps out of the room.

I look sideways at Chaff, who's watching his remaining tribute walk through the fields with a troubled expression. He turns in his seat and looks at me, silent. I've known him long enough to know we're both thinking the same thing. If Katniss and Peeta win, then his tribute will have to die. Even worse, with only 6 tributes left, chances are becoming ever slimmer that they will avoid confrontation. We've never really had this problem before. We're usually gone at this stage in the game, drinking and slandering the government while we watch the Careers kill one another off.

I miss the good old days.


	18. Chapter 18

**IMPORTANT:** Okay, I have a poll up on my profile, for you guys to vote on what you'd like me to write in the HG universe once this fanfic is done. Feel free to message me suggestions or post them in comments and I'll add them to the poll. Nothing (and I mean NOTHING) is off limits. Submit your craziest "what-ifs", character perspectives, etc. I know it's getting a little longer between chapters, but I'm back in school and have limited free time. Whatchagonnado?

**I don't own anything. It's all SC's.**

Thanks to a steady diet of coffee courtesy of Effie, I spend the rest of the night keeping an eye on my tributes, making sure that the Careers stay on their side of the arena, well away from Peeta or Katniss. I have the volume on the Career screen turned up the whole time, and listen to them muttering darkly about the tributes from 12, wondering who has the most sponsorship. Mine, obviously. They're the clear catalyst for the rule change.

Sponsors who've exhibited interest in the idea of the "Star-Crossed Lovers" are readying to open their wallets once Katniss and Peeta are together again. There's a massive amount of interest in the Capitol, and a constantly-buzzing commentary on one of the screens in our room dissects how Katniss says "Peeta" upon discovering the rule change. They play it over and over again, analysing tone, facial expression, and a load of other psychobabble. After they tire of that, they move on to Peeta's confession during his interview. Slow motion. Rewind. Review.

Consensus is that the two are madly in love. I know that they're all idiots, but I need idiots with money to win this thing. We need to convince them that what they're thinking is true, despite the fact that they're completely off base. I seriously doubt that Katniss is going to jump on Peeta and give him a big kiss like the audience expects her to, but I find myself hoping that she'll catch on quick.

The door hinges squeak as someone pushes it wider, and I ignore it, staring at the screen. "Haymitch?"

"Hn?"

I reluctantly turn in my chair at the sound of Effie's voice and see a small crowd of people quietly gathered behind her, some brandishing microphones and others shoving forth cameras. Upon catching sight of me, they break out into frantic whispers. From what I can gather, they're arguing over who's asking me questions first.

Sleep deprived and relatively sober, I'm not happy. The people gathered at the door stop whispering and look at me nervously, collectively taking a step back and staying well behind Effie as though she's a human shield. The expression on my face says all, and Finnick, sitting across the room, smothers a laugh behind his hand. I glare at him. He smiles broadly, pointedly gesturing at his face. A few of the Capitol women standing at the door catch sight of him smiling, feet carelessly propped atop a table, and sigh longingly. _Smile for them Haymitch_, he's telling me.

"Right," I mutter, looking back to the group of reporters and cameramen gathered at the door. I try to arrange my face into some semblance of the expression on Finnick's. Judging from the lack of sighing women, I fail miserably. This was infinitely easier when I was a young, brash tribute. Back in the days before I'd won the Games, I'd revelled in the attention and it came naturally. I was the Finnick of my generation, so to speak. But I've learned that attention isn't a good thing in the Capitol. Since my tribute days, I've gone out of my way to avoid the spotlight when I can, and stay as inebriated as possible when I can't.

"Who's first?" Effie asks brightly, gesturing grandly in my direction.

The next few hours I'm on live TV, discussing my tributes. Mostly, I field questions about their relationship. What I know about them and their families, who were interviewed not long ago. I didn't watch the interviews. I didn't want to see their families back home, and be able to recognize the faces of those who will be mourning them if they don't return.

At one point I'm dragged in to the analysis of Katniss's facial expressions, and Peeta's pre-Game interview. I try to play it down. Calm the excitement. Explain that they have to be patient. "Until a few hours ago, they were under the impression that they were never going to see one another alive outside of the Arena," I say. "The psychological distress of the situation, thinking that the other one will die..." I trail off, looking meaningfully at the pair of psychologists the reporters brought along with them, who take the lead and enthusiastically jump into an elaborate discussion of how it will perhaps take time for Peeta and Katniss to rediscover their feelings for one another. How exciting it will be to watch young love bloom against all odds in an unforgiving environment. I struggle not to roll my eyes.

Then, presumably because he's there and he's universally loved across the Capitol, they grill Finnick for information. About Katniss and Peeta. About me, and whether I'm taking good care of them, despite my well-known drunkenness. They follow his every word in hushed silence, and he obligingly answers all of their questions, fully and completely, if sometimes downright lying.

Finally, hours later, the group of them clears out without a word to Beetee, Cameress, or Chaff. I sigh and sit back in my chair, stretching my tensed muscles. "Enobaria's going to be livid," Finnick says with a laugh, poking his head out the door to watch the reporters leave. "They walked right past the Careers."

Sure enough, moments later we hear Enobaria's furious voice, muffled by the closed door. The Careers have gotten secretive all of a sudden, as if there are secrets you can keep in this place. Or maybe the closed door means they're publicly declaring that we're not welcome in their room. As if I'd want to go in there.

The press conference lasts throughout the early morning, and Katniss is awake by the time I turn around again to face the screen wall. After eating breakfast and readying her weapons she dutifully sets out, attempting to track down Peeta. I hope the kid, as battered as he is, still has the capacity for speech or she'll never find him.

She starts off in the right direction, heading back toward the clearing where she last saw him before Cato stabbed him. It's a good sign, and suggests that she realizes he couldn't have gotten very far. She sets a fire to keep the Careers at bay, and goes off to search. Before long she's walking along the stream.

She frowns as she follows the river, getting closer and closer to Peeta. It's taken her a long time, and she hasn't come by anything that would hint at Peeta's existence. Suddenly she stops and looks like she's on the verge of turning around and giving up. She's mere meters from Peeta according to the center screen.

I grumble in frustration, smacking the side of my chair with my hand. The caffeine has made me irritable, and I'm not taking setbacks lightly.

"Wait," Chaff says, holding a hand up.

The camera focuses in on a stain of blood across a large boulder, and flashes back to Katniss, who's obviously gotten sight of it. She moves in that direction with a new sense of purpose, following the trail of bloody stones. She passes right by Peeta, and I groan my displeasure.

"Peeta! Peeta!" she calls, half-whispering when she's twenty meters away from him.

"He's behind you Sweetheart," I say, holding the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger in frustration.

Giving up after awhile, she starts back down the stream again, obviously at a loss for where he could possibly be. It takes me by surprise to hear Peeta's voice emerging from the mud. "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" Peeta asks, barely audible. Katniss swiftly turns, looking in every direction for the source of the sound.

"Peeta?" she whispers, disbelievingly. "Where are you? Peeta?" In her rush to find the source of his voice, she nearly flattens the poor kid beneath her foot.

"Well don't step on me."

That statement would be hilarious if it weren't so astonishing to find him in a condition where he could actually speak. His voice startles her and Katniss jumps backward. She looks at the ground, baffled, as she tries to find him.

He opens his clear blue eyes and lets out a laugh at Katniss's gasp. His camouflage is fantastic. He blends in perfectly, and unless you knew he was there, you'd never see him. "Close your eyes again," Katniss says, and Peeta obliges, disappearing into the sludge. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off."

"Yes, frosting. The final defence of the dying."

"You're not going to die," she insists. _Good_, I think. She's showing the audience that she cares about him. Well, enough that she doesn't wish him dead.

"Says who?"

"Says me. We're on the same team now, you know."

He opens his eyes again to regard Katniss. "So I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me." I hear (maybe falsely) the weary accusation in his voice, firmly directed at me, and guiltily take a drink while Katniss hands her water bottle to Peeta.

They discuss Peeta's injuries and what they'll do about it, and Katniss makes the executive decision to move him into the stream and wash him off. Considering the state of his vitals that might be easier said than done. She works to pull him from his hiding place, which seems intent to keep Peeta in its grasp. He cries out in pain, and I look nervously at the center screen again to make sure the Careers are nice and far away.

Eventually Katniss gets him to the edge of the stream and proceeds to wash him off. The kid's caked in mud, but as Katniss slowly gets him cleaned up we get a good look at his injuries. A few stings, some bruises, a burn. Nothing too bad. Certainly nothing that should make the screen flash red. She fixes his upper half, handing him a few fever pills courtesy of the dead tribute from District 1.

"Swallow these," Katniss orders. The thinks for a minute, and comments, "you must be hungry."

"Not really. It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days," Peeta answers.

I frown. That definitely isn't good. Peeta probably hasn't eaten decently since the first few days of the Games, and not wanting to eat despite that fact makes me think that something must be critically wrong with him. Katniss tries to get some food into him despite his reluctance, but has little luck.

"What do you think it is?" Finnick asks, right beside my ear. I nearly leap out of my seat. I've been so absorbed I didn't notice how close he was. His arms are crossed on the top of my chair. Not bothered in the slightest, he doesn't even flinch when I jump.

"Odair, would it kill you not to sneak up like that?" I snap. If they allowed weapons in this place, he'd have a knife in his pretty forehead right now. Rule number one of dealing with Mentors: Don't sneak up on them. You don't know what they'll do. Particularly not the old, drunk, psychologically unstable ones who don't sleep soundly unless they have a knife in their grasp.

"Noted," He answers drily, still waiting for an answer.

"What am I, a doctor?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. The kid won't leave me alone though, and stands there, waiting for my verdict. I sigh, lowering my eyebrows, and give it to him. "If I had to guess I'd say it's a nasty infection. Not surprising in these conditions." Lying in a muddy grave for days on end isn't exactly the epitome of clean living. Any number of things could be wrong with him.

"Must be a bad one," he comments. I squint at him. Odair looks... worried? About Katniss and Peeta? The lowly tributes of District 12? I shake my head. I must be imagining things.

"Yeah well, there's not a damn thing I can do about it right now, is there? I need to know what I'm dealing with before I can do anything useful."

As Katniss gets his pants off, we get a better idea. The wound is definitely deep. It's undeniably infected and swollen, with blood and puss seeping out of it. Not a pretty sight, but it's so covered in grime that we still can't get a clear look at it.

"Pretty awful, huh?" Peeta comments, watching Katniss's barely hidden mortification. What, so now's the time she picks to act like a girl? For a kid who kills wild animals on a daily basis and drops tracker jacker nests on her enemies while they're sleeping, you'd think she'd be a little less squeamish when it comes to blood.

She answers (unconvincingly) that it's not the worst thing she's seen, and sets about trying to clean it. The cleaner it gets, the more deadly the infection looks. Katniss suggests giving it some air, and sets about laying the contents of the first aid kit from the District 1 tribute on the forest floor. She tries to fix the wound on the side of his leg, looking ready to spew at a moment's notice as the pus leaks out.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks, and the camera zooms in on him. He mouths the words, "how about that kiss?"

She laughs, somewhere between disgust an embarrassment. Well, at least she didn't say no. Granted, cleaning puss from your lovers wound isn't exactly the most romantic situation. I think the Capitol would understand her reluctance.

"Something wrong?" Peeta asks, innocent.

"I... I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus. Euh!" She empties the bottle of water over the wound, letting out a sound of disgust before applying a fresh coat of leaves.

"How do you hunt?" Peeta asks. She's so squeamish I'm wondering about that myself.

"Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this. Although, for all I know, I am killing you."

"Can you speed it up a bit?"

"No. Shut up and eat your pears."

She continues to apply leaves to the wound, and puss leaks out of nonstop. It looks a little better, and the swelling has gone down. When Katniss moves out of the way to let sun shine on it and examines it, we get a good look. It's definitely deep. Bone deep, which makes him even more susceptible to deadly infections.

Nothing more can be done for it though, and Katniss wraps it up with some sterile bandages from the first-aid kit. She regards her work for a minute, biting her lip. "Here," she says, handing him Rue's backpack. "Cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

First she's afraid of blood, and now nudity scares her. I sigh, shaking my head and looking beseechingly up at the ceiling. Where did my fearless, shining star from District 12 go? I guess in the Capitol that will be seen in an endearing light. Innocent, chaste little Katniss, unable to lay her eyes on the body of her lover. I just hope she gives the audience _something_ to suggest she could be attracted to him.

"Oh, I don't care if you see me," Peeta shrugs, taking the backpack from Katniss's waiting hands.

"You're just like the rest of my family," she complains, releasing her grasp on the backpack. "I care, all right?"

Peeta sits there grinning about something while Katniss washes the grime off of his shorts. "You know," he says after a minute, "you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person. I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all."

I stare blankly at the screen while Katniss wrinkles her nose in disgust, trying to think when that might've been.

Oh.

"I was drunk and the kids helped me out," I say to no one in particular, knowing that there's an unspoken question hanging in the air. At least, I think that's what happened. It's hard to remember the details.

"Ahhh, the Annual District 12 Hazing Ritual," Finnick says, nodding knowingly with faux-gravity. "Cleaning the puke off of drunk Mister Aberthany." I turn to glare at him, and he winks.

"Odair?" I ask, shooting him a warning look. He mockingly closes his mouth and moves his fingers across his lips, zipping them closed.

I turn back to the screen, annoyed at having missed part of my tributes' conversation.

"-did you get something?" Peeta asks.

"Burn medicine. Oh, and some bread."

"I always knew you were his favourite." Peeta says.

"Please, he can't stand being in the same room with me," Katniss argues. Funny. I thought that was the other way around. That _she_ can't stand being in the same room as _me_. Training her was an absolute nightmare.

"Because you're just alike," Peeta retorts. She clamps her mouth shut, and I know she wants to say something rude. Probably wants to take a shot at me. Nothing to stop her, really. Panem'll just laugh at her insults, and I doubt she'll say anything that I find particularly insulting.

Peeta does have a point. Katniss is a lot like me; particularly like the "me" I was when I played the Games. Determined to survive. Teaming up with someone, more out of sentimentality than actual need. Looking for hidden signs in everything.

It hits me, and I have a plan to bring Katniss's lukewarm relationship with Peeta to a boil. If she's as smart as I give her credit for, she'll know what I'm getting at. "Effie," I say, turning in my seat. She's having a whispered conversation with Finnick, and turns her gaze reluctantly towards me. "We need to organize a gift. For Katniss and Peeta."

While they wait for Peeta's clothes to dry, he takes a nap and Katniss keeps watch. She's got nothing to worry about. The Careers are miles away. Soon enough Katniss is waking Peeta to move, so they can hide him while he recuperates.

After dressing him, she tries to lead him downstream. They don't get further than 50 feet and they have to stop. Peeta's in pain, and looks ready to faint. They stay there for awhile before she attempts to move him 20 feet further to the entrance of a cave.

They settle down for the night in the cave. Katniss tries to get Peeta to eat again, before building a blind in an attempt to hide the opening. If she thinks the Careers are going to be fooled by that, she's wrong. After examining her work for a few minutes, she grunts in frustration and starts to tear it down.

"Katniss," Peeta says. Turning from her shoddy job, she comes over to Peeta and brushes the hair off his face lightly with her hand. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could," she insists.

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back-"

"Don't talk like that," she cuts in. "I didn't drain all that pus out of you for nothing."

"I know. But just in case I don't-"

She puts her fingers over his lips, and I hold my breath. "No Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it."

"But I-"

She kisses him. Effie starts blubbering and clapping. I sit back in my chair with a feeling of smug satisfaction mixed with exasperation. This kiss has been a long time coming. She needs to pick up the pace a bit. "_That's_ what I'm looking for Sweetheart," I say as she pulls away from Peeta.

"You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right."

Katniss steps out, and she's just in time to catch a parachute courtesy of myself and her generous sponsors. I stare at her intently as she examines the gift, and see a look of comprehension cross her face. When she goes in to the cave with the broth, and presents Peeta with it in a loving fashion, I know she got the message.

A tribute after my own heart.


	19. Chapter 19

Yep, it's been forever. I'm sorry. Life happens. More specifically, tests and essays designed to steal every waking moment happen. But I wrote you a post-midterm-mania-induced chapter. With **CF SPOILERS**. So... enjoy! (I will update more often, I swear! PINKIE SWEAR!)

**I don't own anything. It's all SC's.**

Warmth.

I open my eyes, blinking uncomfortably as the light of the sun shines down from the pristine blue sky above me. I must've dosed off. I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly as I observe my surroundings. The birds chirping in the air above me. The scent of the trees. The feeling of hands, caressing my face and playing with my hair.

I grin, shifting my head slightly to look at the girl above me, who's cradling my head in her lap. My girl. It's too easy to fall asleep, out here in the woods, resting on her lap. Even with the threat of rabid animals and tracker jacker nests, it's out here with her that I feel the safest. She's smiling down at me, her grey eyes peering into my own. We stare at one another for a moment, wordlessly drinking in one another's appearance. I'll never get enough of looking at her, not even when we're both old and wrinkled and stooped with age. She leans down and kisses my lips, her braid tickling my cheek.

"We could do it, you know," she whispers in my ear seductively.

"What?" I ask with a lazy smile, distracted by the taste of her lips, still fresh on my own.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it."

I frown as an uneasy feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. She sighs, straightening up again and sitting back against our tree. We're silent for a few moments, her hands absentmindedly swirling patterns on my cheeks and leaving streaks of warmth on my skin, but I can feel the tension behind it. She wants an answer from me but I don't know what to say. She's never been one to be quiet for long though, and finally pulls her hands away from my face to cross her arms, staring down at me expectantly.

Reluctantly I lift my head off of her warm lap and the feeling of security fades gradually as I take in her appearance. She stares at me unwaveringly, expectantly. "What about my mother, my brother?" I ask her.

"We can take them with us," she insists, staring at me pleadingly, her voice gaining speed with every word in her rush to explain. She stands up in agitation, her back still against the tree. "My sister, your brother, our mothers, we can all leave together, today, right now."

"Why now?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. There isn't any more danger than usual. Just the same old Hunger Games, coming up in a few days. Besides, we've stayed out of the Games for this long. The universe is working for us. We'll never get picked.

"I'm scared, Haymitch" she says, hugging her arms against herself, breaking her gaze away from mine to stare at the ground. "I feel like one of us is going to get picked."

I laugh at that notion and she tears her gaze from the forest floor when I grab her face in my hands. "We won't get picked," I say confidently, wiping the tears off her face with my thumbs. "And if one of us does, we'll outsmart the other tributes, come back home, get married, and live happily ever after in one of those mansions in Victor's Village, with more money than we know what to do with. Imagine if I _did_ get picked. Think of the wedding we'd have with the riches of the Capitol at our disposal."

She gives a watery laugh, embracing me tightly and resting her head on my chest. "I hope you're right," she says, the sound of her voice muffled.

I pull away from her, staring into her watery grey eyes. "I know I am," I say, with my district-famous confidence. "We'll be fine, the two of us. Just you wait and see." I wink at her and she grins through the tears.

"Promise?" she asks, sniffing.

"Promise," I affirm, closing my eyes and leaning in to kiss her.

"Really Haymitch?" a voice sneers. "I don't think you're my type."

My eyes snap open and I'm a hairsbreadth away from the face of the tribute from District 7. I fall back with a start, staring up from the ground at the bloodied visage of the tribute I'd killed more than 20 years ago. The axe that killed her is still buried in her head. She smells rotten and blood is congealed scab-like on her face. She's defying death, confidently standing there with her hands on her hips, her eyes cold and calculating as she stares me down.

"But you're dead!" I say, my heart racing, my limbs shaking, and my palms sweating as she takes a step towards me. I'm paralyzed with fear, unable to move. How is this possible? She's dead! I killed her myself! "The axe... "I splutter incoherently, pointing at the obvious and hoping she'll realize that she's not alive.

"What, this?" she asks innocently, indicating the axe. She grabs the handle and pulls it out of her head with a sickening squelch. "I've been saving this for you," she says, grinning at me menacingly, the promise of a painful death written on her face as she advances. She caresses the edge of the bloodied blade lovingly, her eyes never leaving my face.

"But I'll give you the chance I never had," she whispers madly. "I'll give you to the count of three. One..."

She holds up a finger but that's all I see before I'm on my feet and running away from her looking for something, anything, to save me. How can you kill what isn't dead? Spotting a good-sized rock while I'm running, I crouch down and grab it before taking off again.

"You can run little Haymitch, but you can't hide!" she screams, cackling madly. I can't tell where she's coming from. The sound of her voice surrounds me, inescapable. "There's no force field to save you this time!"

She appears in front of me out of nowhere, brandishing her axe. She swings at me fearlessly, and having nothing other than a rock I'm soon forced to the ground breathing heavily. My grasp on the rock loosens and she kicks it carelessly from underneath my hand.

She regards me for a moment, sizing me up, before hefting her axe up and preparing for the death blow. I look around hopelessly trying to find a way out. "Tag. You're it," she states with a smirk. I close my eyes, waiting for the blow...

"Haymitch! Haymitch, wake up! Snap out of it!"

My eyes snap open and I whirl around in a disoriented state, scrabbling for a weapon. Someone holds my arms down, but my feet are free and I kick the assailant away, blindly backing into a corner and looking around without seeing. The sight of a bottle catches my eye and I grab it, smashing it against the table. Shards tinkle to the floor and I wave my newfound weapon, daring them to come at me. No one advances, but the adrenaline still rushes through my veins and my eyes dart around wildly.

"Calm. Down." a voice commands. I growl wordlessly, warning them to stay away. I know who it is, but I can't place them in time. I don't know if they're friend or foe. I don't rightly care. Where am I? Who am I? Who are those people across the room? Do they want me dead too?

"Some tranquilizers would be nice right about now!" the same voice snaps.

I feel a sting on my neck and hold my hand against it. Terror grips me as I feel consciousness fading away and I slide to the floor, releasing my grip on the jagged bottle. What's happening? Am I going to die?

"No, you're not going to die. Get us all banned from having bottles in Headquarters, maybe..."

The voice trails off as I fall into oblivion.

Dreamless.


	20. Chapter 20

**Minor CF/MJ spoilers**. Oh, by the way, if there's anyone out there interested in being a beta, lemme know.

**I don't own anything. It's all SC's.**

"Urngh," I let out as I attempt to roll over onto my side. Everything hurts. There's a pulsating pain in my left hand that radiates along my arm and a sore itch on my neck. A sense of anxiety floats on the edge of my mind, just out of grasp. Groggily I open an eye and take in my surroundings. Finnick and Chaff are sitting across the room, peering at me from their chairs, bodies still facing the screen. They look wary and tense, like they're not sure whether I'm totally "here" with them.

I clear my throat, rub my eyes, and sit up on the bed. A wall of dizziness and nausea hits me and I grab my head with another groan. "They gave you enough sedatives to bring down a horse," Finnick offers by way of explanation. "Might take awhile to wear off. First I tried to wake you up because you were thrashing around like mad, screaming about an axe, then you started swinging a bottle at us, and _then_ you started muttering incoherently about who _you_ were and who _we _were and started slashing at yourself. That's when they tranqued you." He says this matter-of-factly, trying to act like something completely normal has happened. A monotone presentation of the facts to get me up to date, so I can get over it and get on with the job at hand. Wouldn't be the first time a Mentor went kamikaze in this place. We just have to pick up the pieces and get on with it.

"I could use a drink," I mutter, clenching and unclenching my aching hand, which is tightly wrapped in clean white cotton up to the elbow. Must've gotten a little carried away with 'slashing myself'. I vaguely recall smashing a glass bottle... running through the forest... kissing _her_...

I close my eyes and breathe slowly in and out, organizing my thoughts. I need to stop living in the past. _My name is Haymitch Abernathy. I'm a Mentor in the 74__th__ Hunger Games. Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen are my Tributes. They count on me to help them win. They can both win. If I stay sane, that is._

"You'd better get used to plastic," Chaff says, throwing a bottle my way. "They're repackaging anything we want to bring in here now."

"So long as it does the same thing I don't care," I mutter as I crack the lid. I'm silent for a moment and only when the liquid is half-gone do I look up at the screens.

"So, what's happening?" I move to the chair that's sitting between Chaff and Finnick and sit myself down.

"Surprisingly little," Finnick says, turning his head back to the screen as he talks. "You picked the perfect time to have a mental breakdown. Katniss is just waking up from a little nap now." Peeta's sitting beside her, looking wholly unhealthy but better than he did last night.

Once I've established that my Tributes are in no immediate danger, I sit back and rub the sleep out of my eyes. I focus on breathing slowly, thinking about what happened a few hours ago. The stress of this place got to me. There's only so long you can repress it before it comes back to bite you. I should've known that, but since my Tributes are usually long-dead by this point in the game, I'm too drunk to care about anyone else's. Now that I have twice the number of Tributes to see to the end and have to stay moderately sober to watch over them, it's taking its toll. I don't want to think about going back to District 12 with one of them when I have the opportunity to bring back two. Evidently not drinking as much as I usually do is addling my brain, making the fear and anxiety reach the surface of my normally lucid mind. Weakening years of alcohol-laden defence mechanisms.

_I hate sobriety_ I think to myself bitterly, taking another swig and watching my Tributes without really seeing them. "Where's Effie?" I ask. I don't really care, but I wonder if she's been emotionally scarred by my meltdown.

"She, Beetee and Cameress are in another room," Finnick informs me. "After you went ballistic she seemed to think it was safer to be somewhere else and coerced them into letting her share their room. Muttered something about that "crazy crackpot drunk from District 12" and how she hoped that "next year I'll get transferred to a District with a respectable Mentor"."

Ah. Well, I didn't really expect any different.

"Personally I think she's got an eye on 4. Good luck to her. I think she's going to have to borrow some poison to oust Pria." I roll my eyes as he grins. Any time someone gets an eyeful of Pria, she's flaunting her cleavage and practically draped across Finnick. The man hardly needs another piece of human jewellery to add to his collection. God knows he's got enough diamonds from his encounters with the people in the Capitol.

"Well if Katniss wins, Effie won't really have to deal with me all that much anyway, will she?" The only reason she's even in Headquarters with me is to be my female counterpart. If Katniss comes out of this alive, _she'll_ get the distinct pleasure of watching the slaughter of children on multiple screens from multiple angles, every year, for the rest of her life.

I take another swig and wonder how well she holds her liquor. Maybe my training won't end once she's out of the Arena. Chaff and I will have to teach her how to drink. As for Peeta... well, he doesn't exactly possess the mentality of past Victors. Who knows what he'll do to escape?

Chaff utters a swear and my eyes flick to the source of his profanity absentmindedly. I'm about to feel grateful that at least one of us is unwaveringly watching the screens until I see what he sees. My breath catches in my throat when I catch sight of Peeta's unwrapped leg in the light of day, and my hand grasps my bottle more tightly. Bright red streaks boldly shine on his pale white leg. You don't have to be a doctor to know what it is.

Blood poisoning. We all know it, even Katniss and Peeta.

"Blood poisoning!" one of the commentators calls out, somewhere between horror and excitement. He goes off on a long spiel about the physical effects of it for the benefit of the Capitol idiots who don't know sepsis when they see it, but there's really only one thing he needs to tell them: without treatment, Peeta is going to die.

"That could be a problem," I say, trying to be nonchalant but failing miserably. The tightness of my voice betrays me. The only thing that could possibly cure him would be strong Capitol medicines. Nothing in that forest is going to help him. He might survive a few days without something, but I wouldn't be willing to place a bet.

"WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?"

I jump with a start as Effie enters the room with a screech, crying exuberantly into a lace handkerchief. "I don't want Peeta to die, he's my favourite! Katniss and him are supposed to live happily ever afteeeeeer!"

"Calm down Effie," I say, only to be rewarded with a reproachful look saying something along the lines of 'you're one to talk'. Apparently she's not going to forget about my psychotic episode for awhile. Nevertheless, her sobbing declines to a hiccough and I clear my throat.

"Sponsors?" I ask, knowing before I say it that the chances of us having enough money to buy something like _that_ this far into the Games is astronomically unlikely. She shakes her head, indicating that it's not enough. We probably couldn't have bought it on the first day, never mind _now_. "I guess all we can do is wait then."

"Wait?" she squeaks.

"Yep," I say, rotating my seat around to face the screen again. After telling my back exactly what she thinks of my useless, drunk, lazy ass, she turns around and storms out of the room. I exchange a meaningful glance with both Finnick and Chaff, who both nod. They understand.

Effie's a fairly good measure of the mood in the Capitol. If they want Peeta, the Gamemakers won't let him die. At least, not yet. Not without a show. All we have to do is wait for them to come up with something. Undoubtedly something near-suicidal, involving head-to-head competition between the remaining tributes, but it's better than nothing.

I feel like doing _something_ though. "Wonder how long it'll take Crane to get it through his thick skull that Peeta may only have hours left?" I ask, directing my question to the camera in the back of the room. "I don't know how Katniss will ever survive without him."

I'm saying that for Seneca's sake. I know he's watching. He's been watching me ever since Katniss shot his roasted pig. Tributes like her smack of rebellion and she makes him nervous. Putting her into direct and deadly conflict with the others is the best opportunity he's got to get rid of her while he's still got the chance. She can die valiantly in an attempt to save her lover- or so he thinks. We all know that given the chance, she'll do anything to save Peeta. She doesn't want to go back to District 12 without him anymore than I do. To face everyone, with the accusatory looks on their faces, asking why she didn't save him.

But that's not what the Capitol will see in her actions. They'll see a girl intent on saving the boy she loves. If she succeeds, the people of the Capitol will rejoice. If she fails, it will be heartbreaking end to a budding relationship, with Katniss dying valiantly on the battlefield. Something the Capitol will talk about for weeks as the single greatest moment of television, and Seneca will get rid of a problem before it becomes a bigger one.

But I know Katniss. She'll go into the melee prepared. _Guess what, Seneca?_ I sneer internally. _She's going to win this thing. Just you wait._ I still have my doubts, but maybe if I say it enough it'll happen. Another bottle of alcohol wouldn't hurt, either.

I just don't want to think about what will happen after she leaves the Arena if- no, _when_- she wins.

Winning is not the end. I know enough to know that.


	21. Chapter 21

Thanks to May Fleur for being my Beta!

The aim is to finish HG by the end of April, because after that I'm gonna be in Germany for 2 months and won't have access to an English version. Which means I'll be updating more frequently.

**I DO NOT own the characters, plot, setting, etc. As much as I wish I did. It's all Suzanne Collins.**

"Tell me a story," Peeta asks Katniss after their meal.

"A story? What about?" She frowns, raising her eyes from her food.

I have to admire Peeta. Sickly, pale, and painfully dying from blood poisoning, he's still able to appreciate strategy. Getting Katniss to tell the audience a story is just another way to make her look good. Plus, it makes them look more like a team. More like they're on some sort of twisted date out here in the wilderness, exchanging childhood tales. Part of me wonders, though, whether this is entirely strategy, or if it's something deeper.

We all get to learn about the happiest day of Katniss' life: the day she bought her sister a goat. She says she sold a silver locket of her mother's, and haggled with the Goat Man over the torn-up creature for her sister. I remember that day. I was in the crowd of people who were arguing about the merits of the deal and about who was going to come out on top. I'd gotten swept up in the discussion on my way to the Hob to get my spirits. Not that I paid much attention at the time to who was buying the goat. I always figured that the girl had gotten the worse end of the deal, and that the mangled creature would die, but it turns out that somehow the goat lived.

Soon after her story ends, the trumpets ring out and Claudius Templesmith is heard. "About time," I mutter. I was starting to wonder if Seneca was paying any attention to me. He invites them to a feast, offering every tribute something that they need desperately at the Cornucopia at dawn, and tells them they'll be in backpacks with their District numbers. The items for each District are shown on the livestream screen to the audience, listed for their convenience. I scan the list. No one needs to get to the Cornucopia as much District 12 does. The contents of that backpack marked 12 are less than useless to anyone else, but priceless for us.

"For some of you, this will be your last chance," he warns.

"Don't I know it," I sigh, focusing my full attention back onto my tributes.

I watch Katniss's expression. She knows what's waiting for her there. Her chance to save Peeta. The chance she's been waiting for. Peeta, though, seems to disagree and grabs her roughly by the shoulder. "No. You're not risking your life for me."

"And here we have the hitch in the plan, gentlemen," Finnick sighs dramatically, placing a hand on his heart. "The none-too-bright Loverboy, who's willing to sacrifice his life, so long as his delicate little Lovergirl stays out of harm's- "

"SHHH!" Chaff and I admonish. Neither of us is in the mood for Finnick, with the lives of our tributes perched more precariously than before. Tonight may well define the Games. Certainly, some will die. Feasts are never bloodless.

"Who said I was?" Katniss asks with an unsuccessful attempt at innocence. She's a terrible liar. We all know she has every intention of going. In her position I'd do the same. This is one of those times where the consequences of _not_ doing something far outweigh the consequences of trying and failing. If I was her, there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'd go back to District 12 without him.

"So you're not going?" he asks, suspicious.

"Of course I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid," she says as she helps him back to the makeshift bed.

He tells her she's a bad liar, and insists that if she tries to leave, he'll follow her through the woods even if he has to drag himself. One look at him tells me that he'll do it, and I twist the cap off of my plastic bottle in frustration and throw it at his screen, where it ricochets off and hits Finnick square between the eyes. He says something to me, but I don't hear it. I'm too busy considering what we're going to do.

Obviously we have to get this insolent kid out of the picture, Katniss and I. Otherwise he'll just get himself into trouble, and put both of them in danger. Dragging noisily behind her in the forest won't do anything to help the situation. We just need him to stay in one place for a while. Out of trouble. Far away from any other tributes, who might do him harm if they come across him. It would be preferable if we could just have him lose consciousness for a while, so he could be hidden from view. I'm wondering if she could possibly incapacitate him. Cutting off his air supply until he faints seems like the best option, but I figure the audience might have an issue with her seemingly crushing the life out of her beloved partner. Besides, even in his sickly state, this kid might be able to hold her off if she tries something like that. There has to be a way that doesn't look like an attempted murder...

Wait.

It hits me the same time that a well-aimed revenge-bottle cap from Finnick smacks me hard in the temple.

"Effie!" I holler. She's just down the hall and the doors are open, so she hears me loud and clear and comes sauntering into the room in a bit of a bad mood.

"Really, Haymitch, couldn't you come and get me like a decent human being?" she asks.

A _decent_ human being? Ouch. If I had feelings that would have hurt. "How much money do we have right now?"

"Why?" she asks, confusion written on her face.

"Because," I say, "we need to get rid of a little _problem_."

A short time later, after Peeta enthusiastically finishes a meal to keep Katniss happy, she goes downstream to wash up with a bitter look on her face. She's trying to figure out what she's going to do with Peeta, and I know it. We don't know how much time he has left, or how long these Games are going to last. He could be dead if she doesn't do this. It won't help convince the audience of her "love" for him either, if she doesn't go through with this possible suicide mission.

"Well Sweetheart, this should help you out," I mutter, pushing the button to deliver a gift to her. It floats right by her gracefully, and I almost think she completely misses it. Then her eyes slowly follow its path, and she jumps excitedly after it. A little _too_ excitedly.

She must think it's the antidote. Thankfully, though, she checks it over and figures out what it _really_ is. It's common in District 12. It's a way to help relieve the pain that comes with various ills.

Or, in this case, it's a way to make someone who's being insufferably difficult fall asleep.

"Sweet dreams, Peeta," I whisper quietly to myself, listening intently as the commentators discuss the gift I've just sent Katniss.

She pours it into a handful of mashed berries and brings it into the cave for Peeta, telling him how she brought him a treat. The kid must think Katniss has decided to play fair at this point, and opens his mouth without hesitation, to keep her happy by eating.

"They're sweet as syrup," he says, as she feeds him the last spoonful. "Syrup," he repeats slowly, the truth dawning on him. He tries to spit it out but he can't. Quick as a cat, Katniss shoves her hand against his mouth and nose, and he can't help but swallow. He tries to struggle away from her and vomit the berries, but it's too late. As he loses consciousness, he stares as Katniss with a look of complete betrayal. A look I feel directed at me, for putting her in danger's way for the sake of saving his life. _You'll thank me later, kid,"_ I think to myself, taking a reassuring drink from my not-as-satisfactory plastic bottle.

"Who can't lie, Peeta?" Katniss whispers as she wipes the berry juice off his chin.

He can't hear her, but that isn't the point. The rest of Panem can. The commentators' barely-contained excitement bursts forth with this development, along with the rest of the Capitol. They bring in the shrinks to analyze the situation, and even the Head Gamemaker himself, Seneca Crane, gets drilled with questions about how the night is going to go. Finally, a two-person news team is ushered into our room, and I'm commended on my inspirational quick-thinking. The light of the camera burns my eyes as it cuts through the relative dimness of the room.

"How do you think Katniss will fare against the other tributes?" The golden-haired woman asks with chirpy excitement.

"She's fast. She's clever. She's brimming with luck. Personally I think the better question would be how the other tributes will fare against her," I retort, trying to infuse my words with the cockiness I had during my youth. I smirk at the camera and give a wink to the Capitol.

"You seem quite confident," she breathes, her eyes wide.

"My girl hasn't let me down yet," I say, brimming with confidence.

After a few more follow-up questions for Chaff and a smile from Finnick, the crew leaves and we're left alone. Finnick congratulates me on my successful performance, saying that I "almost looked like him". As I watch Katniss make preparations to leave, the fleeting satisfaction of a job well done fades completely as I'm left with an unsettling piece of knowledge.

It's out of my hands now.

I clench my empty fists and sigh deeply.

"She'll make it out," Chaff assures me. It's what I want to hear, but somehow I can't make myself believe that it's true. I can feel the hollowness behind the words, and turn to look at him. He's staring at Thresh's screen unblinkingly.

"They'll both make it out," I say, making a half-hearted attempt to sound positive.

"But then what?" he asks, his voice devoid of any emotion.

By way of answer, I pick up my bottle and take a swig as I stare at Katniss's busy form.


	22. Chapter 22

Thanks to May Fleur for being my Beta, because I tend to suck at catching my own mistakes XD

Thanks for the reviews, because they make me feel like writing.

**I don't own anything, Suzanne Collins owns it all.**

Katniss spends a few hours camouflaging the cave, eating, and readying herself to leave. The other tributes are similarly preparing for the Feast, with one notable exception. The red-haired girl from 5 is crouching, stationary, and watching the Cornucopia unblinkingly, as she has been since I bothered to look at her screen an hour ago. Half-starved and alone, the girl's ready to spring into action the moment Claudius opens the festivities.

"Sixty-three," Finnick yawns with barely-concealed boredom, his chin cupped in his hand.

The man is driving me nuts. He's been counting randomly for at least an hour and I can't take it anymore. "Odair, _what_ exactly are you doing?" I snap, jerking my chair around to face him. Unfazed, he doesn't even move.

"Counting how many times Ginger blinks, Abernathy," he answers, monotone, his eyes still glued to the screen. "That's about the most interesting thing that's been happening for the last hour."

I raise my eyebrows and open my mouth to say something, think about it, shake my head, and turn my chair back to face the screens. I was going to say something about him going crazy, but it strikes me as a little hypocritical. We're all crazy here. Who am I to judge? "Her name's Ginger, is it?" I ask, watching Katniss's screen.

I see him shrug out of the corner of my eye. I never bothered to learn her name. The girl from 5 isn't exactly swimming in Sponsors. One look at her can tell you that. She hasn't had a decent meal since Katniss succeeded in blowing up the food, and she's seriously lacking in "hunting" or "finding food" skills. Somehow, though, she's managed to keep a tenacious hold on life. Her stealth is a definite mark in her favour.

The Gamemakers seem to feel the same way as Finnick about the lack of action in the last little while, and they've devised a way around it. Within minutes the livestream screen is capturing footage from the remaining Districts in the Games, in the crowded squares where people are gathered together in preparation to watch the upcoming feast. The reporters are out in full force, talking with the families and friends of the remaining Tributes.

I mute that screen and focus all of my attention on Katniss, who's finished her preparations and is currently lying next to Peeta's inert form, trying to rest before the big show. Must be cold in the Arena, judging by how closely she's glued herself to him.

"I'm here with the lovely little sister of Katniss Ev-"

The reporter's nasally voice, which had previously been muted, rings loud and clear as she pulls Katniss' sister in for an interview. I jerk and turn to the source. Finnick is sitting, feigning innocence, with the remote firmly in his grasp.

"How long are you going to watch her trying to sleep, Haymitch?" he tries to reason. I'm not buying it.

"I don't want to watch it," I growl. "Give me the remote, Odair."

"Or _what_, Abernathy?" He asks with the hint of a smirk. _Bring it, old man_, his face seems to say.

"So Rue, how do you feel about your sister's progress in the Game so far?" The reporter asks. It's all I can do to not stick my fingers in my ears and hum.

"Odair."

"Haymitch?"

"Give it to me."

"Don't think I will."

I don't know how it happens, but seconds later Finnick has me in a headlock, with blood pouring freely down his nose and onto my face. My fist throbs, and I try to struggle out of his grip, failing miserably against the younger man's strength.

"I. Don't. Want. To. Watch. It," I pant, trying to ignore the audio as I stare at the floor.

"What did your sister tell you, before she left?" The reporter asks cheerfully.

"She said she'd win. That she'd come back home," the girl answers shyly. "I know she will."

I stop struggling and Finnick lets me go. We stare at one another, wordlessly, while another reporter interviews Thresh's family in 11. "They're real people, you know," Finnick says after a minute, wiping the blood off of his face with his shirt. "They have families and friends and futures back home."

"I know that," I say, rubbing my sore hand. I just make it a policy not to think too much about it. The less I know about them, the better. It's easier to live with the guilt when I don't know anything about their lives or the people waiting for them if they don't win. Or if they _do_ win. Not all of us have been conditioned like the Career Districts into believing that these Games are something honourable to re-live without remorse for years to come, or that we'll live happily ever after in pools full of guiltless money.

"Sometimes it's just good to be reminded of what you're trying to stay sober for," he shrugs, handing the remote back to me.

I don't say anything. Instead, I sit back down and look at Katniss, who's now fully awake. She might be prepared for the feast, but will she ever be prepared for what's waiting outside of the Arena?

If I could give her any advice right now, I'd tell her to stay as far away from rebellious moves as physically possible. I'd tell her that if she values the lives of her mother and sister, she needs to play a clean Game from here. No more flowers. No more Gamemaker-aimed arrows. Just make it look like she's in love with Peeta, kill off the few remaining Tributes, and get home to her sister. Oh, and marry the Baker's boy for good measure. Have a few children who'll be at the mercy of the Games.

Then start all over again.

Wouldn't that be funny, if in a few decades' time, I'm mentoring her children?

The bottle's right there, but I don't pick it up.

Effie and the rest of the non-Career Mentors enter the room as Katniss leans over to give Peeta a goodbye kiss. The pink-haired woman squeezes her chair between Finnick's and mine, sighing happily when she catches sight of the two lovebirds. I don't really understand what's so romantic about kissing someone who's essentially comatose, but if that makes the Capitol happy, I'm all for it.

She leaves the cave without looking back, and a twinge of anxiety assaults my sober stomach. Before long, her and the other Tributes are ringed around the opening to the Cornucopia, all concealed, all waiting. Time ticks by, slow and anxious, until a shade of pink appears on the horizon.

A rumbling sound breaks the silence, and as it clinks into place, a lone figure darts from the inside if the Cornucopia, grabs a bag at the table, and disappears into the wilderness. The girl from 5 was hiding in the Cornucopia the whole time. _When did she do that?_ I wonder. I didn't even see her move from her hiding place in the forest. The Tributes must be wondering the same thing, as there's stunned silence and no one has moved.

More importantly, Katniss hasn't moved, and she's lost valuable time.

"Run Sweetheart," I mutter. "You've got legs, use them."

Like she's been struck by lightning, she sprints out of the clearing.

The Career girl, Clove, runs after with a knife clenched in her hand. It's like the opening of the Games all over again, only Katniss is running more deeply into danger instead of away from it. The knife comes up, and Clove aims at Katniss's back.

Miss.

Katniss deflects it with her bow, turns, and shoots an arrow in Clove's direction. It makes contact, though not fatal, and slows her down for a few seconds, allowing Katniss to make it to the table unscathed where she slips the life-saving backpack onto her arm.

"Duck!" I hear Finnick whisper, followed by a groan as a second knife makes contact with her forehead. I feel Effie's fingernails digging into my arm, but I only have eyes for my Tribute, who's still standing, albeit staggering and bleeding heavily, as she sends another arrow at Clove.

Miss.

She's on the ground before I can blink, the bigger girl having slammed into her. The look of triumph on her face is enough to tell me that Katniss has no chance. This is it. It's over. The numbness sets in as I realize there's nothing I can do but watch her die, just like I've watched the rest. There's no one and nothing that can save her.

"Where's your boyfriend, District Twelve? Still hanging on?"

"He's out there now. Hunting Cato," she spits, before screaming out for Peeta, who we all know isn't coming. Even now, my girl doesn't want to go down without a fight, and Clove looks around to make sure that Peeta's not stalking her from behind.

Effie's sobbing quietly next to me, and for once Finnick is silent. I feel ill. I look sideways to Chaff, who places a hand on my shoulder, alternating his gaze between Thresh's screen and Katniss's. When his eyes rest firmly on Katniss, I follow his horrified gaze to watch as Clove opens her knife-lined jacket, selecting a blade.

"I promised Cato if he'd let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show." She rolls her eyes as Katniss tries to struggle against her weight. "Forget it, District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic ally... What was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?"

Chaff's grip on my shoulder becomes painful, and I look to Thresh, who is standing, silent and brooding, feet behind Clove with murderous fury in his eyes. Clove is completely oblivious as she caresses Katniss's face with the blade.

"Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?" she asks, only to be answered with a glob of bloody spit. "All right then. Let's get started."

I brace myself as the camera zooms in on Katniss's face, but a millisecond later the knife disappears and all we can hear are the frantic, terrified screams of the Career as Thresh picks her up and throws her to the ground, away from Katniss.

"Why isn't she running?" Finnick moans. "Why the hell isn't she _running_?"

She's frozen in shock as the scene unfolds in front of her, and so am I. Thresh demands to know what happened to Rue, before killing Clove with a smash to the head. As he turns to Katniss with the rock still raised, a cold shiver runs down my spine and I hold my breath as I wait for the final blow. But he doesn't kill her.

"What'd she mean? About Rue being your ally?" he asks, rock still raised.

"I- I- we teamed up. Blew up the supplies. I tried to save her, I did. But he got there first. District One."

"And you killed him?" he asks, demanding.

"Yes. I killed him. And buried her in flowers. And I sang her to sleep."

"To sleep?" he asks with a pained expression.

"To death. I sang until she died. Your district... they sent me bread." She stops to wipe her nose and eyes, and looks up at Thresh with the expression of a girl who knows the end is nigh, and she's accepted defeat. "Do it fast, okay, Thresh?"

Effie's grasp on my arm and Chaff's hard hand on my shoulder are the only things that keep me stable as I watch the screen, where the conflict of the next step assaults Thresh's features. Finally, unbelievably, he lowers the rock. "Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we're even then. No more owed. You understand?"

As Katniss runs away, Chaff and I stare at one another, dumbfounded. That really just happened. Thresh broke the unspoken rules by showing her mercy. If he wins, that'll cost him. It was bad enough when Katniss covered Rue with flowers, and worse when District 11 opted to send her bread. But now...

"We'd like to remind you of the no-contact policy between Mentors," a Peacekeeper states from behind. Our gaze breaks, and we turn in unison. His loaded weapon is pointing in Chaff's direction, and Chaff quickly removes his hand from my shoulder, with one last searching glance at me.

Because there's strictly no contact between the Districts, the Tributes and the Mentors are the only accesses we have to one another. While drunken friendships caught on tape are ignored by the Capitol, rebellious behaviour unaccounted for is not tolerated. With Thresh's act, the relationship between Districts 11 and 12 in these Games just upgraded from heart-warming comradeship to dangerous catastrophe. Having allies from the other Districts if you're not a Career is frowned upon, but sparing someone's life outright is different.

In essence, it means that Chaff and I are about three seconds from being frisked if we don't keep our distance from now on. Even hinting at anything remotely _related_ to rebellion would mean that 11 and 12 will need new Mentors next year. Which is funny, because I haven't felt the least bit rebellious in years. Sure, we get drunk and insult the Capitol. But the two of us have always been smart enough to stop short of saying anything dangerous, like "we should incite a rebellion". We're just the bitter loveable drunks, and we play our part well.

As I watch Katniss get back to the cave and inject Peeta, I don't feel happy or victorious, and I'm not revelling in the fact that she's still alive. All I feel is a foreboding sense of dread, and hope that none of our tributes do anything else stupid before the Games are over.

I look back at the camera, and try to send Seneca a silent message.

_I'm going to behave._

_Honest. _


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you to SiriusFan13 for the Beta-y goodness. It really helped. Um. It's been awhile. Life happened. And also, I have to make a writing portfolio to get into the creative writing class in January and they don't like fanfiction. So, yeah, original works are on top of my list for awhile yet, but I'll try to update more often (like, at least once a month would be awesome). For NANOWRIMO I plan to do 25,000 words of fanfiction and 25,000 words of original stuff, so come the beginning of December you'll probably get a few chapters. Happy Canadian Turkey Day!**

My Tributes spend the next hours out of the spotlight as the majority of the public footage concentrates on Thresh and Cato. Cato obviously wants the contents of his backpack, and Thresh doesn't know what's in his enemy's bag because he hasn't been able to stop long enough to check. Cato is always following behind him, charging through the tall grass with an unnervingly-enraged look on his face. He reminds me of the cannibalistic Tribute they had a few years back, and I'm wondering if he's having delusional thoughts about tearing out Thresh's heart and eating it.

I really don't even know what day it is anymore. I don't know when I last closed my eyes for sleep, or when I woke up. Coffee follows wine in quick succession, as I move between drowsiness and alertness, giddiness and tension. I have to tell myself over and over that I can sleep when the Games are over, and that my Tributes need me. For a time my eyes can't seem to focus. At one point I'm vaguely aware of Effie prodding me in the back and telling me in that chalkboard-gratingly cheerful voice of hers that Peeta and Katniss are picking up more sponsors, but maybe that's just something I dreamed while sitting here in front of the screen wall.

I'm worried about Katniss, considering that she's lying in a sizeable puddle of her own blood, but a quick check of her vitals shows that she's not in danger of dying any time soon. Head wounds always tend to bleed a little more than anything else. It definitely looks worse than it is, and I'm fairly sure that Effie is staying out of the room so she doesn't have to look at it anymore.

Peeta's still out cold, unable to do anything to help his saviour. Apparently that syrup was a little stronger than I thought. Luckily, though, my kids just need some time, and Cato and Thresh are conveniently giving it to us. Unfortunately, it comes at a cost to Chaff, whose eyes have been glued to his Tribute's screen since Thresh saved Katniss's life. I'd like to say something, but I don't know what. _Thank you for having a Tribute who didn't up and kill mine when he had the perfect opportunity?_ It doesn't exactly sound like something someone says aloud. I'd like to offer him a drink, but he hasn't had one since Rue died. I don't really know _what_ to do anymore, and settle for opening another bottle of repackaged wine to share with Finnick.

The door to the room opens with a force that rams it into the wall, and I look back to see Johanna storm through the doorway with a chair in front of her and a Peacekeeper duo trailing behind her. They're becoming a little more frequent nowadays. Depending on the Mentor, it seems everyone has one or two on their case. Even Chaff and I are afforded a couple. Johanna seats herself beside Chaff while looking stoically at the screens in front of her with crossed arms.

"Well hello to you too," Finnick states, peering over the back of his chair at her. She's silent for a few moments, and he rolls his eyes, turning back to the screen. Johanna's not usually so quiet, which makes me a little uneasy. Typically she'd be nattering at Finnick by now for looking at her strangely. She's pretty abrasive for such a young woman.

"What are you doing, Haymitch?" Johanna finally breaks her silence, turning to glare at me.

I don't exactly know what kind of answer she wants from me, so I don't say anything, but I turn my head to look her square in the eyes.

"Cato, Ginger, Katniss, and Peeta," she tics each name off and holds up four fingers. "You know where this is going, right? Katniss and Peeta, the last two standing. Oh, but think how the audience will weep when Claudius Templesmith announces that only one of them can win."

"What are you talking about?" I ask. I already know what she's talking about, but I was more concerned with getting my Tributes safely to the end. I didn't want to think about whether or not the rule change was for keeps. Since Chaff mentioned that it seemed to be an unlikely end to the Games right after we heard about it, I've been trying not to think about it. It does seem like one of the mind games that they'd play on us, but I'm not ready to accept it to be true. Now Johanna's stormed in here and thrown it in my face for the entire world to see. I look away from her and back to the screen wall on the pretext of checking on my Tributes, trying not to think about her words. I wish she would shut up.

"They aren't going to change the rules for your stupid Tributes," she says angrily, throwing her hands up in the air. "Stop pandering to the audience and send Katniss a knife to kill the simpering love-struck idiot before it's too late. She's only playing it up because you _want_ her to, but someone needs to pull the plug _now_."

I see what she means. She thinks Katniss is becoming soft, and spending too much time with Peeta. If it does come down to the two of them, I can imagine that she'll have second thoughts about killing him. They are from the same District, after all. I take a deep breath and let it slowly out. Decisions, decisions. I take another swig before giving the bottle back to Finnick. Johanna's staring at me expectantly. "I'm not going to do that."

"But-"

"No." I want to tell her to _think_ about it. _Peeta_ is the reason the crowd loves her. Peeta makes her look like more than she is. Doesn't she get it? If I somehow convince her to kill him off, what happens then? I'd rather have them both make it to the end and have to decide amongst themselves who gets out than have the Capitol audience calling for her blood.

"_Stop making this into a damn show!_" she yells at me, slamming a hand on the armrest of her chair. "You're such an _idiot_!"

"Tell me something I don't know, darling. I'll do what I want with my Tributes, and, as you'll no doubt recall, I seem to be doing a better job Mentoring at present than you," I reply, leaving it unsaid that her Tributes are long dead by now. "Besides, we didn't go to all the trouble of saving him just to kill him off."

"Condescending ass," she retorts, crossing her arms again and fuming silently. I notice she doesn't leave the room, which can only mean she's found some logic in my explanation. Or maybe she just wants to stay and poke sticks at me some more. Johanna's always easy to anger, but she doesn't have the stamina to keep at it for long. Finnick reaches around the chairs to pass her the bottle, which she grudgingly takes.

Peeta is the one in control right now, whether he thinks he is or not. Joining the Careers was his idea. Saving Katniss from Cato was his idea. He'd been the one to coerce Katniss to stick together from the beginning. Hell, even getting stabbed was a good (if involuntary) move on his part, because Katniss looked pretty spectacular saving his life. Fortunately, up until now Katniss has been playing nice, and she's more convincing than ever playing her part as a tragic lovestruck heroine. The audience loves her. But only as long as Peeta's there. She'd lose all sympathy if she stuck a knife in his back, and the Gamemakers wouldn't blink if they had the chance to kill her off. She's already annoyed them enough to make it likely, but if you keep the crowd happy, you stay alive. In the end it's really the Capitol who decides the winner. If the Capitol's not happy with the frontrunner, it only takes a simple "accident" to end a Tribute's chance to win.

By early evening, Peeta makes his groggy way back to the land of the living. Once he remembers what happened to put him in that state, his eyes snap open in horror and he sits up like someone waking from a nightmare. Katniss is mere inches from him, still surrounded by spatters of her own blood, now congealed amongst the dirt. I have to wonder what's going through his mind while I look at his face, where shadows of emotion flick across.

Fear.

Betrayal.

Gratitude.

He checks her breathing and the relief is evident on his face once he determines that she's still alive. Even though it looks worse than it is, I bet she'll feel it when she wakes up. That probably won't be for a while though. She's unquestionably out cold, and doesn't move a muscle when Peeta reaches out to brush the blood-matted hair out of her face.

Peeta shakes his head. "Haymitch," he mutters, as he leans back on the cave wall. The tone is accusatory, but he's still alive, and Katniss survived the day, so I'm sure he'll forgive me. I know I promised we'd work together to get Katniss home, but I don't think he realizes quite how important he still is.

I don't think he hates me for it, but I'm sure we'll be having words if we see one another again. He's too selfless for his own good. It's not often that you get a Tribute like that, and when you do, they never win. Katniss and I could give him a few lessons on being selfish, given the chance.

He sighs, resigned. What's done is done, and there's no point being upset about it, right? Sure, Katniss might have a few scrapes (which I'm sure he'll mention if he sees me again), but ultimately, he's got to admit that we did the right thing. It's to Katniss's advantage to have him still be sucking in oxygen with the rest of us. She's the shining star of the show, sure, but she needs Peeta to help bring out her human side for the audience to see. Without him, she's a fantastic physical player, but with no intriguing human back-story that makes people want to root for her. Rue brought it out in her full-force, but Peeta needs to keep it going. I don't think it'll be hard for him to play his part. It's obvious he cares for her. I hope Johanna's wrong. I hope they both make it back. Even though I know she's right.

He tries to take care of Katniss as best as he can, but realistically they don't have a lot of resources available. He cleans the blood off of her head and digs through the bag Katniss took off of the kid from District 1 for a bandage, before carefully placing the sleeping bag on top of her. Eventually he settles for sitting beside her, looking at her as if he can somehow wake her with his mind.

I turn to Thresh's screen. He's lost Cato for the time being and he's lying low in a thicket of the long grass, not daring to move or make a noise. Cato's still within the area, but rage can only carry him so long and he needs to rest. He, too, settles in the grass, breathing heavily, with his sword drawn for security.

"We'd like to remind you of the no-contact policy between Mentors."

The voice comes from the other side of the room. Johanna pulls away from Chaff with a huff, stopping her chair a meter beside him. "Yes, because _obviously_ a pat on the shoulder when his Tribute is in grave peril means I'm trying to tell him that my District is revolting and he should join the party."

Silence.

Then, without a word, Johanna has 7 Peacekeeper rifles aimed at her.

"What, you can't take a joke?" Chaff asks them. But there's no humour in his voice. Instead there's an edge of fear. He looks at me beseechingly. _What do I do_? he seems to be asking.

"You going to kill me?" Johanna asks them, deadly quiet, standing up to provide a clearer target. "Do it then. I dare you. You have no leverage on me. In fact, my District _is_ rebelling. Come and join the party," She adds, turning to us.

No one moves, and I swear I can almost hear the gears in Seneca Crane's mind, thinking what he should do. Time is frozen for what seems like hours, until a dart protrudes from the wall and pierces Johanna in the neck.

"You're all cowards," she manages, before losing consciousness and falling lifelessly to the floor. Finnick's staring at Johanna's inert form with horrified fascination as she's dragged from the room by a pair of Peacekeepers, but I try for indifference. I'm not entirely sure if she's gone over the deep end, or if she's just fed up. Either way, I don't think they're going to let her come back in here anytime soon.

The three of us who're left exchange glances, and turn back to the screens.

Rebellion is the last thing I want on my mind.


	24. Chapter 24

**Remember when I said I'd give you something in December? If things are written oddly, just attribute it to the fact that I've been speaking a ridiculous amount of German this year and my English no longer functions as it should.**

**Characters, etc., all belong to the beautiful, talented S.C. **

_Johanna._

Katniss has woken up again and seems no worse for wear, but somehow I can't seem to concentrate on what's going on in the Arena. My mind keeps wandering back to Johanna, and the memory of her collapsing into a heap on the floor. I wonder where she is now, and if I'll ever see her again. They might not be able to use anyone close to her to keep her quiet, but she could be in for a rough time herself.

I can't imagine what drove her to do something like that. I can't seem to escape the guilt that I didn't do anything, either, but only someone with a death wish brings up the idea of a rebellion in Headquarters, with the Gamemakers' hands hovering over buttons that can deliver pain and oblivion at a second's notice, and with the Peacekeepers toting guns all over the place. If I'd fought back, I'd probably have ended up passed out and locked up too, and then where would my Tributes be?

Years ago, someone from District 10 made the mistake of taunting the Gamemakers, and even though he survived, his Tributes were "removed" from the Games. I haven't lived long enough to know what they do if you say something without Tributes to harm. I suppose they can't kill you if you're likeable. Then the Capital audience might start asking questions. But that makes me ask myself: _is Johanna likeable enough?_

I can't even talk to the other Mentors about it, because I don't want to make Seneca nervous. It's frustratingly-irritating, like I have an itch in a place I can't scratch by myself but nobody seems willing to help me. Chaff and Finnick have been completely silent since Johanna was hauled out the door, and even Effie's been unusually quiet since she returned, like she knows that something is happening. I feel the walls of this place closing in on me and take another swig of liquid sustenance, trying to keep my head on straight. Whatever they're doing to Johanna, there's nothing I can do for her. The only people I can help are my Tributes. I grind my teeth and try to pay attention to my kids, consciously pushing Johanna into the back of my mind and trying to convince myself that asking about her will just make it worse. Maybe if we just ignore what happened, they'll go easy on her...

"-Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing."

The sound of Peeta saying my name snaps me out of my brooding, and I turn my focus to him. I've only half-heartedly been listening to the conversation, so it takes a minute for my brain to catch up with what's happening on the live screen. That is, he's talking about his feelings for her.

"Haymitch? What's he got to do with it?"

_More than you'll ever want to know_,_ Sweetheart_ I think to myself, picking at the label of my latest bottle. I know she spent the last day bleeding to death, but I wish she'd hurry up and get her head back in the game. For such a clever kid, sometimes she just doesn't catch on quick enough for my liking. She races head-on into life or death situations without a second thought, but asking her to stop and think is impossible. Wrangling for her romantic involvement is like trying to squeeze blood from a stone, and it doesn't look so genuine when it keeps coming from Peeta like this. Any girl can kiss a guy, but Katniss needs to add some substance to the relationship. It doesn't look so genuine, when the words are only coming from Peeta's mouth. His performance is golden, sure, but Katniss's lack-lustre performance leaves something to be desired. Maybe it's because Peeta's performance is real, and Katniss is just acting.

"So, Cato and Thresh, huh? I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?" Peeta says. I shift uncomfortably and look over at Chaff, who is still watching Cato and Thresh with a strained expression, completely oblivious to anything else going on around him. For his sake I'm rooting for Thresh, but it would definitely make things easier later on if they did finish one another off. There's been a relentless game of cat-and-mouse playing on the screen for hours now. Thresh is never able to stop long enough to rest properly before Cato is back on his track, chasing him through the fields of grain. Cato just keeps looking stronger and more enraged with every passing hour, while Thresh looks worn out, and ready to collapse any time soon, despite his continued trudge. The boy may be built like a bull, but that doesn't mean he can't tire out like the rest of us. He lacks the pure spite that Cato has.

"I think we would like Thresh. I think he would be our friend back in District Twelve," Katniss replies.

"Then lets hope Cato kills him, so we don't have to."

Katniss, who seems to take everything so stoically, tears up, and Peeta asks her if she's in pain but I know better. Thresh saved her life, and the only way for her to escape this place is for him to lose his. It's easy to go crazy in the Arena when you start thinking about that. I should know. I wish I could be in there with her, to tell her to keep her head on straight, and not think about anyone else but herself. It's imperative to her survival. At the end of the day, _everyone_ is expendable, as long as it's not you.

Katniss's vulnerability comes to the surface for all to see as she tells Peeta she wants to go home. Weakness is generally frowned upon in the Arena, but if she can pull herself back together quickly, showing her human side might actually be beneficial. I hope it is, anyway. I glance at Effie, who's nursing a tissue, and sigh in relief. Effie's always thinking what the rest of the Capitol is thinking, so if she thinks it's endearing that Katniss is losing her mind, chances are everyone else does too.

Peeta takes guard as Katniss goes back to sleep, and for a long time there are no sounds in the world but that of the rain, the rustling of grass as Cato chases Thresh, and the noise of Peacekeepers shifting behind us. There's nothing to think about but the fact that Johanna's in a room somewhere, having who knows what done to her, while I'm here safe and sound. As time goes on, the itch becomes unbearable, and after downing the rest of my bottle I turn to look back at the blinking light that indicates I'm being recorded. Seneca can hear me right now, wherever he is in this damn prison. I walk halfway across the room and open my mouth, wanting to tell him exactly what I think.

"Haymitch," Finnick warns. I can hear the unspoken warning: _your Tributes, old man_.

I grit my teeth, knowing that Finnick is right. It would be a gamble to say anything right now. Just because the audience is in love with my kids, doesn't mean they'll be safe from the ire of the Gamemakers if I say something. I can't abandon Johanna though. The stupid kid needs someone to look after her. I stand there, looking at the camera, weighing my options.

"Seneca," a voice suddenly says behind me with a quiet conviction. "Send Johanna back, before you force us to do something stupid. Let Snow know that I'll incite a rebellion myself, it that's what it takes."

I turn back, and Chaff is sitting calmly in his chair, facing the back of the room, staring at the camera unblinkingly. On his screen, Thresh is still making his way through the fields, as he has been for hours, not knowing that his Mentor's words have undoubtedly put him in a massive amount of trouble with the people controlling his fate.

I glare accusingly at Chaff, and he looks emotionlessly back at me, before turning back to his screen. It's like he knows what's going to happen, and he's resigned himself to the fact that his Tribute is going to die in this Arena, one way or another. He's merely speeding up the process. The Peacekeepers won't touch him, when he has a Tribute to be used against him.

And here I am, standing in the middle of the room, looking like an absolute coward. All the same, Chaff's let them know what we think, and me adding my words to his would unnecessarily draw targets on the backs of my Tributes, wouldn't it? But I can't stay silent, can I? I can't just let Chaff's Tribute take the bullet like this.

"Sit down, 'Mitch," Chaff mutters.

"But-"

"_Abernathy_," he snaps, jerking his head at the screen of Katniss sleeping. "_Sit Down_."

I throw one last glare at the blinking light, before making my way back to my seat. Finnick passes me a bottle and I take it, settling back in my chair to watch my Tributes. Thresh will be dead soon enough, and though Chaff is still keeping one eye on his screen, he intermittently looks to my part of the screen wall, focusing on Katniss.

After an hour of looking at Chaff looking at Katniss from the corner of my eye, I turn my head fully, to let him know that I know what he's doing. I regard the tired eyes of the man I've known for 23 years, and can read the message there as clear as daylight.

_Don't let her lose, Haymitch_.


	25. Chapter 25

**It's a short chapter, and it might be a couple of weeks before the next one, but exams are driving me crazy and I ended up editing this. Reviews are always appreciated, good, bad, or neutral.**

**All belongs to S.C. I have no money, so don't sue me ;P**

Johanna is sent back to us within the hour, looking pale and worn out. She has red lines up and down her arms that look like burn marks, but when she sees me looking she crosses them to try and hide the evidence. They haven't done anything to Thresh yet, which makes me suspect they're planning something big to do to him. Maybe they're waiting for a bigger audience. Or maybe they've decided to let Chaff off the hook for his comment. Glancing at the tense Peacekeepers though, that seems like some pretty wishful thinking.

"You okay?" Finnick asks her, and she nods curtly, her mouth firmly closed until he passes her the bottle. Whatever it is that they've done to her, she's acting completely opposite to how she was mere hours earlier. It worries me, but I don't want to question her further and cause another confrontation with the Gamemakers.

"I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread."

Again, Peeta's voice calls me back to the Arena, and I snort. _Some chemistry from your ice princess over there would be a start, _I think to myself. Katniss knows what to do. A kiss equals a pot of broth. A story about how much you love him gets you something more. Claiming your undying love for the Baker's boy equals winning the game. Hell, if she proposed marriage I bet that she would be declared President by the enamoured audience.

Peeta grudgingly admits that since they're both still alive, it appears that Katniss has done the right thing in saving his life, but he gets angry when she insists that she _did_ do the right thing, because he figures she shouldn't die for him. _Come on, Katniss_, I think to myself, pressing my hands to my temples and staring at her as if I can transmit thoughts into her mind from miles and miles away, _Take the bait, Sweetheart, and tell him how much you like him, and how you couldn't bear living another day without him there beside you._

"Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who… who worries about… what it would be like if…"

As she searches for the words I grab my hair in frustration, pulling until it's painful. I sit on the edge of my seat as she stumbles through the words. _Spit it out already, Sweetheart. That's it, you know what to say, so say it._

"If what, Katniss?" Peeta asks in a whisper, setting up the entire situation for her wonderfully, as if he'd planned the whole thing out. All she has to do is give a girly lovestruck answer, and I'll give her the meal of a lifetime.

"That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of."

No. Haymitch did _not _tell her to steer clear of that kind of topic. I let out a yell of frustration, pushing myself out of the chair and nearly pounding on the screen in my annoyance. "Dammit!" I bellow, letting out a string of swears colourful enough to have me beeped out for the delicate ears of the Capital audience. I kick my chair across the floor and throw an empty plastic bottle at the screen, where it merely bounces off, instead of giving me the satisfactory tinkle of broken glass. "Damn it all!" Why couldn't Effie have picked the name of a more intelligent Tribute out of that big glass ball? Honestly, this girl had the _perfect opportunity_ to score some valuable points with the viewers, and yet she couldn't get it through her thick damn skull.

"Uh, Haymitch?" Finnick asks, pointing to the screen, where my Tributes are locking lips. Breathing heavily I grab the remote, which ended up on the other side of the room during my brief tantrum. A quick replay shows that Peeta instigated the kiss, and I'm grudgingly willing to admit that it's better than nothing. At least this night isn't a total loss, despite the fact that Katniss is being so obstinate.

"Effie," I say once I've calmed down. "I need you to organize a Sponsor gift for me. A feast. I don't care what it is, anything. Just make sure it's edible, and something substantial. Spend everything on it if you have to, and make sure it's something that _Katniss_ will like." I'm sure they'll start discussing their feelings eventually, and I want to give her the incentive to keep going when they do.


	26. Chapter 26

I'm back in the land of the living. School's out for the summer. Yay for writing again! No, I haven't abandoned it. It might take me 10 years, but I intend to do the entire trilogy XD. Also, if you'd like to read the Spanish translation (you know, practice your language skills and whatnot), you could always stop by CruzdelSur's "A través de los ojos del Mentor". I know no Spanish, but from what I hear, she's doing a pretty awesome job.

**I own nothing. All belongs to SC.**

The next few hours in the Arena are particularly uneventful, whereas the tension in Headquarters is steadily rising. All of the Mentors, both those who have Tributes in the Arena and those who don't, are moved into a single, larger room, so we can witness the ending stages of the Games together. Even the District escorts squeeze their way inside, though unlike us, they're allowed to leave and enter the building as they please. They usually wait until this stage of the Games to take advantage of their "Behind-The-Scenes" free pass, since all the boring stuff is over with. As my District 12 counterpart, Effie seldom leaves the building during the Games, and she seems thrilled to have other District escorts around. She's sitting far away from the rest of us, in a corner with the escorts, talking about some new Capitol designer.

There are screens on three of the walls, and along the fourth are beds for those who want to sleep, with a door in the middle to enter the hall. The number of Peacekeepers must have tripled since we've come here, though it seems to me that most of them are gravitating towards Johanna and Chaff, and only one of them is standing in the midst of the Career Mentors. I wonder if the Capitol has an active rebellion on their hands somewhere out in the Districts.

The Gamemakers have been letting in reporters the entire morning to talk to the Mentors who are still in the running for the 74th annual Hunger Games. They even rig up a sort of debate, where we try to convince the audience of the virtues of our Tributes, in a last-ditch effort to squeeze some money out of the richer citizens before the showdown begins, or at the very least, to gain some support for our Tributes and spare them from the ire of the Gamemakers. As soon as we're down to the final four, the Sponsors no longer get a say in who will win the Games. The money stops flowing, and the Tributes are on their own.

Everyone seems to know that it's just a matter of time before Thresh and Cato fight it out, and then the real battle will begin. I'm hoping Katniss hurries up and show the audience how much she likes Peeta as a person. I have a gift already signed up for them when she does. I just want her to get on with it before they're down to the final three, when even pre-registered gifts will be denied. This will be the most elaborate meal the Capitol audience has ever seen in the Arena, maybe even a wasteful use of money in the eyes of some, but I want Katniss to be happy and full going into the last stages of the Games. The Gamemakers have been letting it rain for hours on end, and her and Peeta must be hungry since they can't go outside and hunt without soaking.

I also want her to focus on the task at hand. Namely, revealing her love for Peeta. If life has taught me anything, it's that talking about your feelings is easier over a plate of food. But first she needs to convince me that she's going to open up to Peeta. I just need a sign that she's ready to go there, and then I'll push the flashing button.

"Who do you think will win, Finnick?" an infatuated green-and-gold-haired journalist asks, clutching the microphone in one hand and clenching her other against her chest. Finnick's nonchalantly leaning back on a table, and he drums his fingers restlessly against it as he contemplates the question.

"Well," he begins, giving the awe-struck reporter a devilish grin, "I'd love to see a double victory for District 12. Something about rooting for the underdog District is just so… _refreshing_. Besides," he leans over and whispers loudly behind his hand, "Between you and me, Haymitch is getting old. District 12 needs some new blood, if you know what I mean. The man is a liver failure waiting to happen."

I play my part as the camera whips around in my direction and pretend that I'm too deep in my bottle to have heard the comment. I can almost hear the audience laughing. _Silly drunk old Haymitch. Too scarred by his youth to face you people without a bottle in his hand. Remember that time when he had to hold his intestines inside until the doctors arrived to cart away a body that was more corpse than boy? Hilarious._

After the interviews, we sit as a group in front of the screens, watching Thresh and Cato while Katniss and Peeta spend the day in the cave, miserable and cold. With raining pouring from the sky in a torrent, Thresh has to stop to pull his feet out of the mud numerous times. Thunder shudders across the horizon, followed closely behind by terrifyingly beautiful webs of Gamemaker-designed lightning, giving the atmosphere a ghostly-purple appearance. In District 12 we're surrounded by forests on all sides, but out here in the fields of grass, the world is more sky than earth. The surreal scene sets the mood for the coming confrontation.

We don't have long to wait before Cato and Thresh are within fighting distance of one another, and I know the time has come to whittle the Tributes down to four. Chaff sits forward as the boys circle one another, but whereas Cato has a sword, Thresh has nothing but two unopened backpacks. Cato loses patience first and lunges at Thresh with an animalistic snarl, but Thresh steps to the side with an unnatural grace for someone so big, and slips the District 2 bag off his shoulder, holding it in front of him like a makeshift shield as Cato lunges again.

A metallic clang rings out, followed by a rumble of thunder. It continues for what seems like an eternity. Cato is swinging his sword ferociously but Thresh continues to use the bag as a shield. Soon enough it's cut to threads and we can see the mesh fabric underneath, surrounded by tatters of remaining backpack. Thresh finally starts to make some headway after minutes of intense struggling against the force of Cato's sword. Cato loses his balance on a stone lying on the ground behind him, and with a yell, Thresh forces him into the mud, tearing the sword from his opponent's grasp. Cato is unarmed, injured, and very vulnerable.

As Thresh lifts the sword above his head to unleash the killing blow, a deafening rumble of thunder shakes the scene, followed by a blinding flash of lightning that causes me to shield my eyes. When I look again the scene has changed, and Cato is standing over Thresh, who's groaning in pain, his breath uneven, visibly fighting to keep conscious. He's been struck by lighting. With the swing of a sword and a torrent of blood, it's done. Cato grabs what's left of the backpacks and starts trudging back the way he came. It's over. Thresh has lost.

I can't look at Chaff as the cannon rings out amidst the thunder, and instead focus on my own screen, where Katniss and Peeta are huddled together, miserable but alive. Chaff silently gets up, and walks out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Gladdie watches him go, before bowing her head and exhaling. Thresh saved Katniss, but in the end he paid for it with his own life. The Gamemakers saw to that. Peeta, Rue, Thresh. They all seem determined to keep her alive. Even other Mentors seem to want to control her fate, and make sure she gets as far in this game as possible.

What is it about her that makes people want to keep her breathing in a game that's all about how selfish you can be for your own preservation? Love, friendship, and debt are the obvious answers, but there's something more. Respect? Adoration? Reverence?

"And then there were four," Finnick states melodramatically, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers as he turns to watch Katniss and Peeta.

"Shut up, Odair," I reply, burying my face in my hands to try and rub the tiredness away. It doesn't work, and guilt slowly creeps up on me as I sit there in silence, contemplating Thresh's death. If only Chaff hadn't said all that nonsense about rebelling to get Johanna back... if only _I'd_ been the one to say something instead of him...

"This is _hardly_ fair," Enobaria sniffs, crossing her arms and frowning deeply. "The odds are _clearly_ in District 12's favour. They've received more official airtime, more sponsors, more Mentor interviews and more Gamemaker leniency than anyone else. All because of some stupid, fake love story."

"Yeah, because you Careers haven't been handed an unfair Hunger Games victory _ever_, right?" Johanna retorts with heavy sarcasm, receiving warning glances from her Peacekeepers. "I mean, it's not like you're trained from birth to enter the Arena, given a steady diet of steak and potatoes throughout your childhood, and given the best of _everything_ to ensure you win once you get there, are you?"

The Peacekeepers are staring daggers at Johanna, but she continues, and now everyone in the room is staring at her, hanging on her every word "And then the Capitol has the audacity to wonder why we start rebelling against their draconian-"

Her words are abruptly cut off by her Mentor counterpart, Blight, as he clasps his hand around her mouth. She glares at him, but he just shakes his head and refuses to release her from his grasp until she sighs and nods her head. Apparently whatever happened to her while she was gone wasn't enough to keep her quiet for long.

"I think what Johanna is _trying_ to say, Enobaria, is that, despite the many advantages your Tributes have had, they're just not as interesting as District 12's this year," Finnick cuts in diplomatically, and many of the escorts nod their heads in agreement from their corner gathering. "For once, brute strength isn't what the Capitol wants to see." He shrugs, and adds, "We'll win next year."

He looks over at me, winks, and says "Besides, Haymitch deserves a win for once. I've never seen him so invested in his Tributes. And I meant what I said about that liver failure. We can't expect poor Effie to replace him."

I pick up a bottle that's sitting next to my chair, and show it to Enobaria with a flourish of my hand and raised eyebrows, before taking a long swig to prove Finnick's point. Enobaria huffs and rolls her eyes, turning to stare at Cato's screen again.

I follow suit, and turn back to my shivering, miserable kids, hoping that they'll put on a good show in spite of the weather.


	27. Chapter 27

"Old man, if you sleep much longer, you're going to miss all the fun."

My eyes snap open at the sound of Finnick's voice and I sit forward with a start, hands clenching at empty air where my knife should be. I start to panic, until I realize that I'm safe. Well. As safe as a person can be under the watchful eyes of the Capitol, anyway.

I take stock of my surroundings before I allow myself to sit back, letting in a deep breath as I wait for my heart to slow down. Yawning widely, I gaze at the screen where my Tributes are still lively shivering together, before looking to the other two Tributes, who are still nowhere close to them. Cato is wandering through the fields, and Ginger is freezing in a clump of bushes. It looks like it has been a boring day in the Arena apart from the gruesome murder of Thresh. Now would be the opportune time to turn this romance up a notch.

When I turn my chair to ask Finnick if I've missed anything important during my nap, I'm subjected to the sight of Pria, his District's Escort, sprawled across his lap with one arm draped around his shoulders. He endures it with a bored expression, paying little attention to her as he gazes at Katniss and Peeta. Pria starts twirling his hair around one of her fingers, and Brutus, who's sitting beside them, seems more than a little distracted by her voluminous assets. A quick glance around the room tells me that the Capitol women are all incredibly jealous, and some of the men as well. _Who_ they're jealous of is hard to decide, and I can't help but roll my eyes when I notice Effie's dejected expression from her place between two other Captiol women.

Chaff is sitting beside me, wide-awake and motionless, staring unblinkingly at the screen that used to belong to Thresh. I look for the words to ask him how he is, but I already know the answer so I leave him alone. Nothing I can say will fix it. It's better to keep my mouth shut, get on with the Games, and get us home where we can drink and mourn in silence.

It would be much easier to get us there if Katniss could pick up the pace on the "wooing" front. I get it. They're hungry, cold, and exhausted, and the rain has been relentless. It doesn't make for the greatest romantic atmosphere. At the same time, the Escorts in the room are all looking increasingly bored with each passing moment, and I stare at the screen, begging the girl to put on the show I know that she is capable of. The silence between them drags on, while the storm outside continues to rage. Sick of listening to the thunder, I press mute and take stock of the room.

"Anything important happen while I was out?"

"Nah. But I've got a feeling that things are going to heat up soon," Finnick offers.

I look again at the screen, where my kids are huddled miserably, and look back at him doubtfully.

"Trust me, old man. I know it's been awhile since you played the Games, and your Victor senses have been dulled by all the drinking, but I know what I'm talking about. Those kids are going to be making out any minute now."

"Guess I'll have to take your word for that Odair."

Pria starts braiding Finnick's hair in little knots, and Effie comes to stand by me, staring determinedly at the screens and releasing the occasional huff. "If it'd make you feel better Effie, by all means you can braid my hair while we wait for this promised love scene," I offer, fluffing it a little for emphasis. Her gaze falls upon me, clearly unimpressed, and she turns pointedly back to the screen wall.

She gasps, grabbing my arm and pointing, before snatching the controller from me. She frantically presses buttons, and I look at what the fuss is. Katniss has an almost-pleasant expression on her face, and her lips are moving while she looks at Peeta.

"Called it," Finnick says smugly.

_Well, it looks like it might be something_, I think to myself. Mentors and Escorts alike pull their chairs closer as we're treated to the story of Peeta's childhood crush on Katniss. He weaves us a story about the first day of school, when he fell in love with a girl with a beautiful singing voice, and how he spent the next 11 years trying to "work up the nerve" to talk to her.

"... so, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," he finishes. Escorts on either side of me sigh longingly, and even Pria has stopped braiding Finnick's hair, gazing at Peeta as though he were a kitten with a ball of yarn.

"Puh-LEASE," Johanna sniffs disgustedly. I turn to see her leaning against a wall in the corner of the room, arms crossed, with Peacekeepers on either side glaring at her distrustfully. "Do you _seriously_ believe this? I think I'm going blow chunks."

"SHHH!" half the room admonishes, waving frantically at her to go away, while someone increases the volume.

"-wasn't paying attention," Peeta says.

"I am now," Katniss replies softly, staring unwaveringly at Peeta. I swear I could almost believe her acting myself if I didn't know any better. No one in the room pays Johanna any attention when she makes another sound of disgust from her corner.

"Well I don't have much competition here," Peeta says, blithely unaware of the Capitol women hanging hungrily on every word coming from the innocent, handsome baker's boy.

I don't know if anyone else notices the darkening of Katniss's expression, or the tightening of her mouth, but I most certainly do. "Don't you dare," I mutter angrily under my breath as the silence between the two lovebirds lengthens. "Don't you dare to this to us now". She's come too far on this path to back out now. The only thing stopping her from plummeting over the cliff edge and into the enveloping adoration of the Capitol is her own damned stubborn mind. I will her with my own mind, staring hard at the screen, trying to overpower her mental defenses. _Say it, Sweetheart. Say it_. Another sentence. That's all it will take to make the Capitol swoon.

She swallows and opens her mouth. The wait is agonizingly slow, and time seems to move slower as her mouth forms the careful words: "You don't have much competition anywhere".

As they lean in to kiss, I press the faintly flashing button on my remote, releasing her Sponsor gift. It lands with a clunk beside the cave as teenage lips touch, causing them to pull away, and various Capitol escorts make hissing sounds at my interruption of the romantic moment.

I don't care. My girl has done what I wanted, and she needs to know that I approve.

"I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve."

"I guess so."

The involuntary noise that slips from my mouth is caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement, and I toast my tributes with my empty plastic bottle as they dig into the feast.

_Well done, Sweetheart._ _Keep up the good work, and maybe you can eat that well for years._


End file.
